Better The Devil You Know
by Nyx6
Summary: November is a bad month. It's the anniversary of Jess' death and Sam's depressed. A hunt seems like the perfect solution until an unwelcome face from Dean's past shows up, drawing them both into a deadly situation. November is a very bad month for Sam.
1. Chapter 1

Ok, so I've decided it's about time I put Sam through the mill (see, I do listen!) and so here it is, starting with a good helping of depression! Thanks to the boffins on the net who gave me a rough date for John's death (before the anniversary of Jess' anyway) - and any disputes can go to them! But now, without any further ado...here we go...

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**Chapter One.**

"**November Blues."**

Three hundred and sixty five days it had been, three hundred sixty five days, twelve whole months. A year exactly since she'd died.

It felt more like ten, and why wouldn't it have? His college-life, his law career and Jess were all gone, floating around the fringes of his subconscious like memories from a past life, each one a million miles from where he'd ended up, from how he'd ended up, from who.

Was it really only a year ago?

They'd been in Jessica's hometown for three days, on the case of some hunt Sam had 'created' with the help of a loosely interpreted newspaper article reporting a vaguely suspicious death. He wouldn't be able to keep up the pretence much longer – Dean was already starting to see the thing as a dead end – but every second he remained there felt worthwhile. It was like being close to her again, like being close to the things in her life that had mattered.

He'd borrowed the Impala the day earlier, claiming he was going out to buy supplies – which he had even done to maintain his cover – for most of the two hours he'd been absent however he'd been sitting outside Jessica's parent's house, watching her dad clip roses off a large and blooming bush in the front garden, collecting them lovingly into a bunch and knowing where they would end up. Hadn't he known Jess had hated roses? Maybe he had, maybe it didn't matter anymore. At least he got to spend the anniversary with her at the grave, Dean had all but banned Sam, reasoning that his appearance would lead to confusion and questions he shouldn't and couldn't answer.

_"Look Sammy, we can go next month, next week even,"_

Neither were good enough, next month would be too late, next week would be too late, the only day that mattered was _the_ day and he was missing it, slumped instead at some sleazy bar draining his third whisky and lining up another.

"Think you've had enough?"

Usually he could sense Dean before he saw him – the rustle of a leather jacket, the confident pace of his stride, a waft of familiar scent – the alcohol however shut them all down, numbing him to the wider world beyond the glass. Dean filtered through it only when he spoke, drawing in alongside to rest his arms across the bar top with a sigh.

"I'm still conscious," Sam slurred back, a hell of a lot more lucid than he hoped he'd be.

"Yeah."

"How'd you know I was here?"

A finger flapped casually towards the bar in response, indicating a pretty blonde barmaid who glanced towards them briefly as if on instinct. Dean nodded at her gently,

"Thanks Becky,"

"Sure thing," she smiled back before turning sympathetic eyes and a_ hang on in there_ expression towards Sam, "I was getting worried about you."

Ah, of course, trust one of Dean's many floozies to be on the case. Honestly, how in a three-day time span could his older brother have _already_ banged the barmaid of a place they'd only been in twice? It was unbelievable. It was annoying, Dean treating women like throwaway playthings. Didn't he realise how special they could be? Didn't he realise how fragile –

Sam trailed off with a sigh.

No, he didn't. How could he? He was Dean and Dean had never been in love. Not like Sam had.

"Finish your drink," came the sudden instruction to his right, Dean trying to sound gentle but still managing to clip the order almost militarily, "We're leaving,"

"Leaving the bar?"

"Leaving town."

"What?" Sam's blood ran cold, a shiver of hot sweat following close behind as he blinked up at his brother in undisguised horror. They couldn't leave, not _that_ day of all days, "But – ,"

"I said we're leaving Sam," Dean repeated, firmer and colder as he unfolded some bills and pushed a couple across the counter in exchange for the drinks, effortlessly settling his sibling's tab.

"I can't,"

It was a whisper, miserable, pitiful and just mournful enough to stop Dean in his tracks, expression softening instinctively. A hand dropped down heavily onto his shoulder,

"I know Sammy,"

"No you don't," Sam murmured in response, pulling away and almost lurching off his bar stool in the process. Dean stopped him with a handful of jacket, spinning his brother back towards him and taking a deep breath in an attempt to muster his patience.

"Yes, I do. You think I'd be in this place chasing some bogus case if I didn't?"

"Huh?"

Dean knew about the fake story? A hand rose to cup his face briefly, turning into a rallying pat as the moment lingered too close to sentimental.

"Believe me Sam, I know. But that doesn't change anything – we're still leaving. Now drink up,"

There was no point in arguing with him, partly because he was using his _not messing around_ voice but largely because Sam just didn't have the energy. He was tired, tired of everything. Tired of never staying long enough in one place to learn where things were, tired of never doing the simple things he'd enjoyed before like going to the movies or taking a stroll on a lazy afternoon. He was tired of feeling unfulfilled and uninspired. He was tired of it all.

Throwing back the rest of his drink and slipping ungracefully from his seat, Sam irritably flapped off Dean's steadying hand, turning for the door and trying to ignore the look he knew he brother was flashing the still concerned-looking Becky, a silent apology and a casual shrug in the vein of _brothers, what are you going to do huh_? Only that was the point, Sam didn't care.

The Impala was parked outside on the road, a big black beast of a gleam in the winter sunlight. Their bags were already packed in the back, the sight making Sam frown as he leant heavily against the roof for support.

"You checked us out?"

Dean ignored the hint of irritation, instead moving to help support his brother's weight as he opened the door with his free hand,

"I told you, we're leaving."

Sam pushed him away ungratefully, folding into the car limply and slumping heavily into the seat. Dean threw his eyes skywards, letting his hands follow suit at the spectacle before moving to slam the door behind him. _So much for gratitude_. Honestly, Sam could be a pissy little bastard when he put his mind to it – not that he didn't have a good reason for it mind.

"The sooner we're out of this town the better," he muttered to himself as he rounded hood keys jingling in one hand. Maybe his younger brother would cheer the hell up once they were away from what must have been constant reminders of Jessica, although judging by the expression that greeted him as he climbed behind the wheel, maybe not.

_Oh yeah, hours on the road with this is going to be fun_.

Sam didn't speak until they were well out of town, not even responding to the Metallica Dean turned on extra-loud in the hopes of sparking a reaction. Sam's eyes were drooping fast, mind wandering lazily across a varied patchwork quilt of thoughts and emotions, each seemingly unconnected with the last but finally settling on an image of Becky, smiling warmly at Dean from across the bar moments before. It promptly led back to Jess and suddenly he was annoyed with his brother all over again,

"Why don't you treat them right Dean?" he asked, surprised by how slurred the exhaustion was making him sound. Or maybe it was finally the alcohol doing its job.

From behind the wheel Dean offered him an off-hand response, sensing that his sibling was most probably teetering on the edge of nonsensical chatter and only mildly happy to reply in that it meant they were talking again.

"Who?"

"Girls,"

Dean blinked,

"_Girls_?"

"Yeah,"

Dean's following grin was not entirely what Sam had been expecting, although whatever he had been expecting temporarily eluded him,

"I think you'll find Sammy that I treat girls _very_ well. I've certainly never had any complaints."

"That's not what I mean,"

"_Fine_," Dean sighed in exaggerated tones, his attempt to lighten the mood falling on deaf ears, "Explain. _How_ do I not treat them right?"

"You always leave them," Sam's voice sounded small, even to himself and Dean's tone softened instantly in response, trying to answer as simply as he could without the urge to roll his eyes,

"I never promise I'll stay you know,"

"You should," the answer caught Dean by surprise, making him frown all over again as he took in his slumped younger brother, head resting sideways against the window, eyes shut and heavy-looking, "It's nice to stay,"

"Yeah well, I'll just have to take your word for it Sammy,"

Although in reality he didn't doubt it and didn't that just break his heart all over again? Sam pining for something so normal, a functional relationship no less. If he could, Dean would have moved heaven and earth to give it to him but instead he was being forced to deliver him the next best thing. Retribution.

"You should stay."

He was slipping fast but for some reason refusing to let sleep fully wash over him. Dean at least could do something about that.

"Hey Sam?"

"Mmmm?"

He was practically there anyway and so Dean flipped off the music, plunging the car into a blissful silence broken only by the steady rumble of the engine.

"Get some rest, huh? You're no use to me like the walking dead," he winced involuntarily at his own choice of words but luckily Sam was too far gone to notice and only minutes later Dean was rewarded by the sound of heavy rhythmic breathing, "Thank God," that was something anyway and hopefully by the time Sam woke up again the day would just be a distant memory.

They managed to make another fifty miles before Dean's cell started to ring, the sensation of vibrations running through his thigh alerting him to the call before the ring tone did.

He scrabbled for it frantically, patting at the shape through the material of his jacket before diving a hand into the folds and pulling it free with a quick glance towards his brother as he snapped it open and pressed it to his ear. He was still sleeping soundly, crisis averted although Dean couldn't quite help the sharp edge from creeping into his tone as he answered in a whispered hiss.

"Yeah?"

"Dean?"

The voice was a crackle across a staticky line, breathless and barely coherent but definitely his name nonetheless. He frowned in response,

"Who is this?"

" –al, –al Rudman…"

"_Cal_?"

What the hell – Cal Rudman? Cal Rudman was calling _him_?

"Hey –an, –'ve you been?"

Dean could barely hear him, not that he much wanted to. As far as he was concerned he hadn't seen or heard from his fellow hunter in nearly four years and that was the way he liked it. Still, if nothing else his curiosity drove him towards civility,

"What's up Cal?"

Well, sort of anyway.

"Got a –ase, need –ome help. You interested?"

"What is it?"

" –etala,"

"A vetala?"

Nasty sons of bitches and definitely more than Cal Rudman could possibly handle. But why was he phoning them? Did he not know anyone else who could help save his ass?

"Yeah. –ou in?"

Dean paused hesitantly, eyes flickering briefly towards Sam as he debated silently. He was certainly in no hurry to work with Cal Rudman again, but nor could he deny the chance to take Sam's mind off his resurgent grief either. A good hunt was probably just what he needed besides which Dean couldn't help but be intrigued by the sudden contact.

After all the years that had passed, _why now_?

"Where are you?"

" –hat mean you're coming?"

It was a good question, were they?

Dean glanced over at Sam again, the frown drawn across the face of the slumbering figure making his mind up for him with sudden determination.

"How soon do you need us?"

He only hoped he wouldn't regret it.

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So, hands up. Who thinks he will? Anyone?

Settle back folks, this is going to be quite a long one (By my standards anyway!)


	2. Chapter 2

So here is the first of the flashback chapters, which are a lot shorter than the normal ones and provide the back-story as well as hopefully drawing out some of the cliffhangers a little bit longer! I know, I'm cruel like that! But they are going to be important in their own right so...well, I'm going to stop waffling now!

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**Chapter Two.**

"**When Dean First Met Cal – Part One."**

_The werewolf twisted, feigning a left before diving off towards the right through a patch of dense shrub and into the thicket beyond. Two sets of feet skidded to a halt behind,_

"_Come on!" _

_A breathless command, a tug at the sleeve of a jacket and they were away again, cutting left through the trees in a circle, footsteps pounding out a frantic rhythm on the hard ground._

_It had been a bitch of a hunt – two nights of hard chasing through coarse impenetrable foliage, two nights of bruises, scrapes and scratches, two nights of loading and reloading silver bullets. _

_Nor was it over, not by a long shot._

"_Dean!"_

_As a call echoed faintly around the rising incline of trees, one of the runners slid to a halt, sending a cascade of dirt skittering on ahead as his boots ground in deep. His breath tore from his throat but he stood alert, tipping his head in the direction of the voice,_

"_Dad?" _

_He called back, listening to the sound bounce off their surroundings and resonate back at him. _

_Silence was his only reply and instinctively he moved to close both hands around the handle of his gun, dipping the barrel at a point just below the horizon as he waited, watched and listened. _

_Alongside him another figure panted breathlessly, the air catching in his throat and turning into an exhausted cough. They were all nearly running on empty. _

_Up ahead somewhere there was a gunshot, the noise cracking in off the valley like an almighty clap of thunder followed by an oppressive silence. _

"_Dean?" the figure beside him hissed, tone carrying an undercurrent of urgency as he twitched anxiously, "What are you doing man, it's getting away!"_

"_No," Dean shook his head briefly, eyes never once leaving the horizon, "Something's wrong."_

"_What?" _

_It was a snort, half-doubtful, half-surprised and all derision but Dean ignored it firmly. He knew what he'd heard and he knew what it meant; _Stay where you are_._

_Something was going down._

"_We need to wait for the others,"_

"_Wait for them?" his companion snapped back, running an exasperated hand through slick black hair before holding them wide in appeal, "You're kidding me right? We've got it on the run, we lose it now we might be out here for another two nights. You want that?"_

"_If that's what it takes."_

"_Screw this man," came the response, fired back bitterly and accompanied by the harsh metallic click of a gun, "I'm finishing this thing."_

_Then he was gone, sprinting into the undergrowth and away into the night._

"_Cal!" It was too late, the stupid son of a bitch was already gone, "Damn it!"_

_There was going to be hell to pay. _


	3. Chapter 3

Ok, so I was going to wait another day but I figured since I only posted a short chapter yesterday I'd be kind and put up another today - forgive any mistakes, I did read it through but my rat just ran straight across the keyboard and did weird things so now I'm not so sure and haven't got time for a re-read! Bloody animals!

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**Chapter Three.**

"**The Game's Afoot."**

"So who exactly is this guy?"

They were standing in the bathroom of some gas station, Dean leant casually against the only patch of the tiled wall not streaked in urine and watching as Sam bent in low over one of the basins and splashed up great handfuls of cold water onto his face.

The sudden change in temperature made him gasp, the icy beads soaking into his skin and working out the layers of sleep with all the discretion of brain freeze. Eyes blinked wide in response, although it was infinity preferable to the heaving he'd been doing over the toilet bowls minutes before – a not so subtle reminder that he and whisky had never quite been the best of friends.

Dean had joined him in due course once the Impala was fully filled up and ready to go, arriving just in time to witness the last of the retching and simply flipping on the cold tap in response as he'd settled back with arms folded across his chest.

"Cal Rudman," he responded simply, passing across a couple of paper towels from the dispenser and watching Sam rub them across his face in relief.

"Right, and you know him how?"

To say Sam had been surprised upon waking up to find themselves on another case would have been an understatement. After all, he'd only been asleep for two hours and sometimes it took as long as two weeks to find something even vaguely hunt-like. He'd been even more surprised however to find out that the job had come via a request for help from an old acquaintance of Dean's, nor did it seem were the surprises completely over.

"Me and dad worked a job with him and his old man back when you were at college,"

Sam blinked,

"Wait, a father and son hunting together?"

He'd thought their dad was the only parent stupid enough to actually consider such practice as a viable childcare option, although apparently he'd been wrong. Suddenly Dean was grinning, a quirky sort of amusement registering across his face,

"Yeah, pretty wild idea huh?"

Sam wasn't biting, instead continuing to wipe the paper towel across his face and savouring the cool tingle of his skin. Next time he wanted to lose a day he was just going to go the easy route and knock himself out, concussion was certainly easier to deal with than whisky hangovers.

In the silence Dean passed across another paper towel, silently removing the sodden wad from Sam's hand and launching it across the dank little washroom. He raised his arms triumphantly as it sailed straight into the trash, earning only an eye-roll from his groggy sibling,

"This Cal have an annoying older brother too?"

"You're not cute when you're being smart Sam," came the reply, decidedly singsong in tone.

"_Me_?" Sam spluttered back derisively, "I'm not the smart ass around here Dean, that's your job,"

"Ah, but then I'm always cute,"

"That's a matter of opinion."

Sharp eyes flashed in his direction,

"What?"

"Nothing…_anyway_, you still haven't told me about this Cal guy. Why does he want our help?"

"Honestly?" Dean shrugged, "I don't know, I mean we didn't part as the best of friends last time – ,"

"Which was when exactly?" Sam cut in, giving himself a final look in the cracked mirror and running an absent hand through his cold damp hair. He was just about ready to present himself to the world once more – provided he didn't hurl again, which he couldn't entirely promise. Dean was watching him lazily, continuing the conversation through carefully appraising eyes. He seemed to agree with the analysis, silently turning and opening the door for their exit. Sam squinted heavily, had the sun been that bright when he'd gone in there?

"About four years ago,"

Beside him Dean was still continuing the conversation, a necessary if not delaying tactic until he got to the inevitable _are you all right?_ They pretty much both knew the answer to that one.

"And you've not heard anything from him since?"

"Nope," Dean offered back, sniffing absently and heaving another nonchalant shrug, "Always figured he'd probably gotten himself killed on some job,"

"Why would you think that?" Sam asked in surprise, managing to turn his continued squint into something of a frown as he glanced across at his brother, wishing the story would come out more than one fragmented piece at a time.

"Guy was an idiot dude," Dean replied finally, something like repulsion in his tone, "You should have seen him. I just never expected him to actually still be alive, you know?"

"Well apparently he is and now he needs our help."

Climbing into the driver's side Dean couldn't resist a derisive snort, his tone leaning heavily on a trademark burst of sarcasm,

"Yeah, great."

They spun out of the tiny gas station with a screech of rubber on concrete, turning heads as they drove by and drawing a wide grin across Dean's face. Sometimes he really was like a child.

"So you still haven't told me why you took the job," Sam began again in the silence as Dean's fingers scrabbled about at the cassette deck, "You know, since you hate the guy so much,"

An evasive shrug answered his question,

"Just thought it would be a good idea,"

"Who for?" The silence spoke volumes and picking up on the implications Sam nodded wryly. _Ah, that would be me then_, "Dean, I'm fine."

"_Yeah_?" he was back to sarcasm again, not buying a word of it, "Because we usually have to stop so you can puke your guts out, right?"

Okay, so that was little harder to dismiss, not that it stopped Sam from trying.

"I'm _fine_."

Dean knew that tone well, the _just leave it_ tone he'd been issued with more times than he could count and the snap to his brother's tone making him hold his fingers out wide around the wheel defensively,

"All right Sam. Have it your way."

The last thing they needed was an argument.

They'd hit striking distance of Cal's location when Sam had still been asleep, only pulling over forty minutes from their eventual destination to save the interiors from being repainted an unpleasant shade of regurgitated whisky-brown at Dean's insistence. With his co-pilot apparently back in the game however navigating duties fell back towards the passenger seat for the final stretch of the journey, albeit with the provision that the second Sam felt the nausea rising again he say something fast or else find himself hitch-hiking.

The motel they'd agreed to meet Cal at was located a couple of miles off the main road into town, a run-down little offering complete with an errant strand of police tape blowing in the bitter winter chill across a drained and uninviting pool. Dean wrinkled his nose at it on sight as he clambered out of the car, letting his eyes cast around the barren environment in the hopes of seeing something even mildly pleasant. There was a weed growing through a paving slab on the way into the foyer. That would have to do. Mustering a smile he jerked a cheerful thumb in the direction of the deckchair-strewn pool, watching as Sam turned towards it in ill-disguised disgust,

"Who do you think the cops found floating in there?"

"My guess would be the handy-man," He could feel his nausea starting to return again, helped by a puddle of something suspicious looking splattered beside one of the doors. _Oh God_, "Or the cleaner."

"Maybe both," Dean shot back with a grin, "You know, a lover's leap from the roof?"

Taking a deep breath Sam squeezed shut his eyes, desperately trying to stop the bile that was rising rapidly into his throat,

"I think I might join them,"

Noticing his tone Dean turned back with a smirk, gesturing around with wide arms,

"Well, as long as you're nowhere near my car, feel free Sammy. The parking lot is your toilet bowl."

"Yeah," came the response, decidedly sarcastic, "Thanks."

If the outside experience had been unpleasant then the sensation only worsened as they stepped in through the door, greeted by a foggy haze of cigarette smoke so strong it burnt the eyes and a desk clerk who looked like a walking corpse – only unhealthier and stained from his teeth to his fingernails with the yellow mark of a long-term nicotine dependency. As they stepped up in front of him he seemed to be busily picking the remains of lunch out of his back molars. _Nice_. Letting Dean do the talking Sam stood back a pace, concentrating on gritting his teeth firm against the swell in his stomach.

"Hey,"

"You want a room?" It was a simple question, spoken in between a hacking smoker's cough that seemed to be producing a healthy amount of phlegm. Dean didn't flinch, grinning right on back at him,

"Well we certainly didn't come in here for something to eat,"

A zing about the hygiene standards – it passed by unnoticed.

"Twin?"

"Younger brother," Dean replied, his smile fading as yet another quip fell on deaf ears. _Wow,_ _tough crowd_, "Err, yeah. Twin room'll be fine."

"Here," a guest book was shunted in his direction roughly, a cracked pen following along behind it, "Sign your name."

Dean did as he was told, trying to ignore the continued hacking and positively feeling Sam's rancour behind him. Silently as he scribbled some made-up signature he scanned the untidy list for signs of Cal, realising that it was probably a useless exercise as he did. Cal might have been an idiot, but he wasn't a complete idiot, he had, after all had the teachings of his father to lean back on and fake was not a lesson Jerry Rudman would have willingly skipped.

"There you go," Dean offered, pushing the ledger back with a smile and leaning in a little closer as he flicked a credit card across the desk, his demeanour all false-nonchalance, "Say, you wouldn't happen to have seen a friend of ours would you? 'Bout my age, black hair, travelling on his own? He said he was going to meet us here."

Eyes found out his briefly, a flash of uncertainty crossing through the gaze before the desk clerk glanced down at the name on the guest book before him, taking in the 'D' before the surname with a furtive frown,

"You Dean?"

Ok. Weird.

"Yep, and this is my brother Sam," he filled in as the eyes slid to a point beyond his shoulder in suspicion. A tongue flickered serpent-like across dry lips,

"Yeah, I got a message for you," he admitted somewhat grudgingly, passing across a folded square of paper and watching intently as Dean read it. Privacy was obviously not a word that he'd come across, "Real nice that fella," he added eventually with a nod towards the note, "Been here a couple of weeks now, the locals have really taken to him," they both knew there was a point coming somewhere in the rambling detour but it was just a case of getting to it, "We take care of our own round here see,"

Ah, and there it was. Although why in the hell anyone would ever be charmed enough by Cal to actively look out for him was certainly beyond Dean's comprehension. Instead he nodded, quirking a brow in vague amusement at the threat.

"Well, we're old friends. Used to know his dad."

A key hammered down onto the desk before him, accompanied by an unconvinced glare,

"Yeah. That's what he said."

With the conversation seemingly over, Dean collected up the keys, tucking the note into his pocket and turning to head out of the reception, Sam following curiously – and a little relieved – in his wake.

"Well?" he asked as soon as they were clear of the cigarette smokescreen,

"Well what?"

Sam's sigh of frustration was audible,

"The note, what did the note say?" he snapped, dodging again past the puddle of…stuff as he tried to match pace with his brother. The paper flickered back to him before he could blink, held out casually over one shoulder,

"Cal's not coming,"

"What?" scrabbling to unravel the ball, Sam let his eyes trace the scrawl and added address attached to the bottom. He read the message aloud, "_Hey, thanks for coming up. Sorry I won't be able to help, got caught up in a case in the next town across. Sure you can handle it, Cal_," he blinked in surprise, registering the implications, "He just bailed on us?"

Beside him Dean snorted, the sound dry and derisive,

"Yep, sounds like Cal,"

As they drew to a standstill beside the Impala Sam glanced from the crumpled paper to his brother, confusion knitted across his brows,

"So," he began semi-hesitant, "What now?"

"Now?" leaning across into the backseat and dragging out their bags, Dean paused to pass across the laptop, pushing the computer into his younger brother's chest and letting a grin slide across his face, "We get to work,"

Sam's expression matched his as he smiled back, nodding knowingly in the silence,

"Hunting vetala?"

"Nope, researching,"

By which he'd obviously meant, _we do what _you_ do best Sammy_. Researching. Of course.

The grin widened suddenly across Dean's face, drawing his brows closer together as it turned into a smirk, half-anticipation, half-zeal.

"_Then_ we hunt the son of a bitch."

"Right."

It was always good to have a plan.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four.**

"**A Fly in the Ointment."**

Dean blinked, disbelief tempering his entire expression as his eyes flickered sideways, darting from the road to his younger brother sat hunched over in the passenger seat computer balanced awkwardly on his lap and a frown of concentration wrinkling his brow,

"Funeral rites?" Dean repeated back at him in the silence, "What the hell does that mean?"

Beside him Sam shrugged, his demeanour part baffled and part apologetic,

"I don't know," he offered, raising his hands to further the point before quickly dropping them to scroll through the text once more, "But I guess it means we have to…" a hesitant pause, "…hold a funeral,"

Again Dean blinked, the situation seemingly not improving,

"For the vetala?"

His brother shrugged.

"Yeah,"

_Don't shoot the messenger._

"Well that's just great," he huffed back sarcastically, heaving a sigh and rolling exaggerated eyes, "I mean, what am I supposed to do Sam? Huh? Distract the thing while you stand over its grave singing 'Morning Has Broken' and delivering the eulogy?"

"Dean," resisting the urge to smile at the continuing diatribe, Sam instead took a deep breath, interjecting in semi-sharp tones before his brother's censure rose to new and unparalleled heights. A glare in his direction let him know he had temporary custody of the soapbox, "As far as I can make out there's only one strong candidate for who the vetala actually is…err, was – Martin Drake, buried a week before the first attack. No funeral, plain headstone, none of his family turned up – ,"

"Sounds like a popular guy,"

"It's his grave we need to find."

"And you really think rock salt will work?"

It wasn't exactly often that Dean had cause to doubt Sam, but going in after a vetala with no real clue on how to stop the thing from kicking the crap out of them definitely qualified as legitimate cause for concern. The shrug he got in return was hardly comforting,

"Well, it's _like_ a spirit – ,"

"I thought you said it was some sort of Indian vampire,"

"Yeah, but what works on vampires Dean? Dead man's blood? Think about it, that's hardly going to hurt a vetala not when it willingly chooses to _inhabit_ other people's corpses,"

Okay so he had a point, not that it needed to be confirmed, the kid was far too brainy enough as it was anyway and so Dean instead simply shrugged back before adding a vaguely macabre grin,

"We could try slicing it's head off."

Evidently Sam was still feeling a little tender from his earlier session with the toilet, wincing and shifting awkwardly in his seat at the mental images the sentence created,

"Let's stick to rock salt for now."

"Baby,"

It was a mumble at best but it still drew a narrowed glare,

"What?"

"Nothing."

Two could play at that game.

As much as he hated to admit it Cal had found them a pretty decent case, piecing the clues together from recent reports of children being attacked in a graveyard, one incident of a pregnant woman almost miscarrying in the same spot, a suddenly high number of fatalities in a nearby retirement home and finally a groundskeeper going mad and trying to behead a statue with a shovel before being hauled off by the cops. Obviously the old 'rest in peace' motto was not one that held much water with the dearly departed Martin Drake.

The cemetery sat on the outskirts of the little town, a headstone dotted patch of ground lying quiet in the dark behind austere iron gates firmly secured for the night. Not that a padlock had ever stopped Sam and Dean before, as proven by the boots that thumped down solidly onto the path, the crunch of the gravel sounding loud throughout the empty expanse of grass. A bag of weapons followed the descent, thrown up and over the spike-topped bars and landing in outstretched hands with a clink of metal. Two more feet followed seconds later.

"Ready?"

Sam nodded his consent silently, both darting quickly from the gates further into the shadows as the headlights of a car briefly illuminated the space before giving way to the shroud of darkness once more. Dean was hunting through the bag, loading salt cartridges into a shotgun before snapping it shut and hauling the holdall up over one shoulder. His eyes met his brother's quickly in a silent assessment of the situation,

"You'd better be right about this Sam."

He didn't get an answer, his brother instead heading off across the cemetery keeping low until he was out of the sight of the gates, threading through the gravestones and casting his flashlight over them one by one as he searched for the plain surface that would indicate Martin Drake's unhappy place of rest. Dean stood sentry-like further back, gun in hand and letting his eyes do all the work.

"Sam!" It was an irritated hiss, permeated with chill and frustration, "Hurry up!"

Dean was on vetala duty and as it turned out, he didn't have to wait long for action.

The hand was his first clue, a hand thudding down onto his shoulder from behind and literally scaring the living daylights out of him. Turning in one swift pivot he turned directly into the distorted face of a man, skin hanging long and white from the bones, unfocused eyes staring outwards and a scruffy beard framing a drooping mouth. Whoever's corpse dear old Martin was currently inhabiting had clearly seen better days – probably another poor soul from the retirement home. Life was cruel that way.

Dean staggered backwards on instinct, colliding hard with a gravestone and cursing.

"Jeez – ,"

Casting down Dean performed one last check; hands and feet pointing backwards. Yep, it was a vetala all right, which made his next decision really easy and without a second thought he held the gun up, pressed it into the chest and fired.

The vetala stared back at him unblinking and, apart from stumbling back a few paces, nothing else happened.

_Crap_. So much for rock salt.

"Sam!"

He abandoned the hissed whisper in favour of an all-out shout and Sam looked up just in time to see someone launch into Dean, knocking him backwards off his feet and sending them both into a heap on the floor.

"Dean!"

Taking a step towards the scene Sam belatedly registered his brother's head turning in his direction as he tried to fight off the vetala, his instructions coming out through gritted teeth as he battled for control of the situation,

"Find the gave!"

Even in the midst of battle he sounded snappy, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. It was standard Dean Winchester though, the old, _don't worry about me, just get the job done_. Sometimes he was like their father's carbon copy. Still, he had a point and so turning the flashlight back towards the headstones, Sam picked up his pace, practically flying along the rows and dismissing everything with even the barest hint of writing on it. The ball was in his court and so was Dean's safety.

"Sam!"

Another shout, decidedly _what the hell is taking so long_ in tone and followed by a grunt and the sound of a punch, only Dean was fast realising that hitting the thing was not going to work. If he was going to get rid of the thing himself, then he was going to have to move on to Plan B. Beheading. Younger, queasy feeling brothers be damned.

Raising his arms, Dean grabbed up a handful of the creature's clothing, bracing himself and using all of his strength to lever it up away from him enough to lift up his legs and centre them somewhere low on the ribcage. With a growl of exertion he kicked outwards, watching with a mixed sense of pleasure, relief and breathlessness as the vetala flew backwards through the air, landing in an irritated heap a few feet away. There was no time to waste, rolling over onto his knees, Dean stumbled to his feet, crossing the distance between himself and the spot he'd dropped the weapons bag, intending to make full use of the length of wire he'd stowed away earlier. The only sight that greeted him however was a flattening of bag-shaped grass where something heavy had recently been. Their weapons were gone.

"What – ,"

As the vetala clambered to its feet behind him, face even more unnaturally twisted in anger and beginning an unsteady gambol towards him, another voice rang out across the cemetery, laced with urgency and a sense of achievement,

"Dean! I've found it!"

"Great," came the reply, short and vaguely sarcastic as his older brother slowly stepped backwards away from his approaching foe, trying to formulate Plan C as he did, "Now what?"

"Well…"

"You don't _know_?!"

His disbelief was only temporary, the vetala piling into him seconds later proving the bigger of his distractions as it pressed him down into the dirt of a newly dug grave, swiping at him from side to side and screaming as it did, like a thing possessed. Dean tried hard to push it away, to catch the swinging hands but it was strong in the other-worldly way that spirits often were and there was no denying it's boundless energy and enthusiasm for wasting him was starting to show effects. In the background Sam started talking loudly,

"I am the resurrection and the life…" he paused momentarily and Dean could almost feel him looking across, willing the reading to be having an effect. It was having none.

"It's not working!" Dean hissed, lifting a knee and flipping the creature off long enough to roll away. It was back on him in a second, this time on his back and pressing him face down into the earth, blocking off his airways. Sam was scrabbling with pieces of paper, obviously moving onto his own Plan B but not moving fast enough to help,

"Dean!"

Just as Dean's lungs started to send oxygen-related panic warnings to his brain however, there was another shout across the dark open ground and a sudden release of pressure from on top of him.

"Hey!"

The vetala was moving in an instant, dragged back with its limbs flailing. Lifting his head and taking in a deep gulp, Dean rolled over, eyes widening as he watched a dark-headed man of about his own age wrap a piece of wire around the creature's neck and pull tight. The skin sagged instantly, the life falling away from the body in a rush of ghostly white cloud. It was nothing but a corpse again, although the danger was far from over.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Dean snapped as he struggled upright. The newcomer crossed the distance towards him in three quick strides, grabbing him by the arm and hauling him onto his feet,

"Better late than never, huh?"

But the greeting was going to have to wait, because the danger had not yet passed. Although the vetala's chosen corpse was no longer active, the spirit was and they had no idea where it was going to appear next. Behind them, Sam was talking again, his voice loud and clear across the darkness, firm with the renewed conviction that Dean was safe,

"Martin Drake, born March fourteenth…"

As he spoke, there was a shrill scream in the air, like someone shouting although whether in dread or ecstasy they couldn't quite tell. The cloud of white appeared almost abruptly before Sam, writhing at his continued eulogy and not even halting the steady trek through the Drake life history,

"…spent forty-eight years in accountancy, working for…"

The screaming picked up a pace, growing louder as the cloud began to swell, reaching a crescendo as Sam delivered the last lines of the impromptu sermon,

"…we commend his body to the ground."

It disappeared in a shimmer, accompanied by a blinding light emanating from the grave. When everyone was able to open their eyes again, silence and an empty cemetery stared back at them. Dean let out a long sigh he didn't know he'd been holding, moving a hand to brush some of the dirt from his hair,

"Ashes to ashes," he commented flippantly watching as Sam began to head hurriedly towards them, eyes flicking curiously towards the grinning newcomer standing alongside,

"Dust to dust," finished off the other hunter before smiling wryly and clapping a hand across his shoulder, "Hey Dean,"

"Cal."

"It's been a long time."

Although as far as Dean was concerned, not nearly long enough.

* * *

Sorry this took me a little longer to get up than normal…I've got tonsillitis (sp?!) and am feeling pretty sorry for myself so have been in bed shivering for the last two days! This time any mistakes are mine, the rat had nothing to do with them!

Still, reviews are like Buttercup Syrup and Neurofen for the soul…so please continue to indulge me!


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks for reviews and the sympathy! Still feeling poorly but since this is only a short one it didn't take too much reading!

* * *

**Chapter Five.**

"**When Dean First Met Cal – Part Two."**

_"Cal?" _

_The son of a bitch was practically begging to get himself killed and nor was Dean entirely disinclined to let him. Still Jerry was a good man, he didn't deserve to have to bury his only son – even if he was a complete moron, _

_"Cal?!"_

_A gunshot stopped him dead, this one louder, closer and echoing in off the trees. It was accompanied by another and then another, each seeming to point in a different direction, the sound crackling around the enclosed woodland like a myriad of fireworks or else some wartime blitz. It was accompanied by loud whooping, a cry of excitement that made Dean frown in disbelief._

_That was Cal all right, where did he think he was? The freakin' wild west?_

_He set off again at a run, bursting through the scrub up a head gun in hand and stopping almost as soon as he did._

_Cal was standing before him in the little clearing, sweat streaking his cheeks from the chase, a wild grin across his lips. His gun was lowered, but pointing at a spot on the ground beyond him, eyes transfixed and gleaming. Dean followed the gaze._

_Lying in a bloody heap in the shadows of an overhanging tree was the unmistakeably feral form of a werewolf. For a second Dean assumed it was dead, but as he stepped closer it suddenly started to move, scrabbling in the dirt with huge paws, tongue lolling from one side of its mouth and its breathing so heavy and laboured that they could hear it from where they stood._

"_Got you now you son of a bitch," Cal murmured from behind him, gazing down passively at the writhing mass of muscle and fur beyond them._

"_It's still alive," Dean hissed, unable to tear his eyes from the scene and slowly watching the blood pool across the ground, turning dark and dirty as it mixed with the earth. Cal shrugged,_

"_So? It won't be for much longer."_

_As it scrabbled again, its claws drawing pitiful lines in the loose soil as it tried to pull itself upwards, the werewolf's head flopped in their direction, eyes full of pain turning up to bore into Dean's. He stepped forward on instinct, gun raised._

"_What the hell do you think you're doing?" Cal barked from behind, stepping up and grabbing hold of his arm in a vice-like grip. Dean shook it off just as firmly._

"_What does it look like?" he growled in response, feeling a well of anger starting to mount inside of him._

"_It's a werewolf!" Cal hissed in disbelief, "Let it bleed to death, why should we care?"_

"_Because it's a person!" Dean yelled, rounding on him and just stopping himself before he decided to plant a fist in his fellow hunter's midriff._

"_Was a person," Cal clarified, "Not anymore."_

_For a full second Dean blinked at him, almost shuddering under the weight of callousness he saw reflected in the other man's eyes. Finally he turned, raising his gun and tipping it towards the werewolf's head as his companion shifted rebelliously beside him._

"_You're a cold-hearted son of a bitch Cal, you know that?"_

"_I'm a hunter."_

_Dean snorted. The man was anything but._


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six.**

"**Liquid Refreshment."**

When it came to guessing Dean's mood Sam had years of experience at his disposal, an entire lifetime of watching his brother hawk-like and deciphering every last twitch, frown and quirk for the hidden feelings. There were times however, when no translation was needed.

This was one of those times.

They'd reconvened to a local bar as soon as both they and Cal were convinced that Martin Drake was done and dusted – literally, where a stony-faced Dean had promptly taken to a bottle of whisky and spoken barely two words since. Sam had stuck to soft drinks, he'd more than learnt his lesson from the night before besides which he was still a little on the tender side. The hard stuff could wait a week or two.

Cal for his part didn't seem to notice the grumpy silence he was getting, either that or he didn't care, instead sharing his enthusiasm with the younger of the brothers and a glass of amber nectar himself.

"To a job well done!" he offered with a broad smile, sitting forward from his casually slumped position to hold his drink aloft. Sam matched it at once, the chink of glass cracking loudly through the chatter and soft music in the bar behind them. Dean didn't move, didn't even blink and Sam offered Cal an awkward laugh of apology as he noted his eyes slide sideways in a brief flicker of confusion.

What the hell was Dean's problem anyway? Sure Sam knew he didn't much like Cal, although his reasons for that had been pretty sketchy at best – _guy was an idiot dude _– either way the point was that Dean owed the other hunter his life which should at least have inspired a degree of civility if not out-right gratitude.

"_Dean_," it was a harsh hiss, forced out between clenched teeth and accompanied by a look – _what the hell is wrong with you_? Dean glared back unwilling to grace his brother with any sort of explanation. In the end however it was Cal that broke the tension.

"Aw, don't worry about it Sam," he chuckled absently, rubbing a palm across the tabletop and letting his gaze drop briefly, "The truth is your brother's got every right not to trust me,"

Judging by the blink that registered across Dean's face he was just as surprised by the sudden revelation, but in keeping with his suddenly sullen disposition he again said nothing, simply turning back to his whisky and waiting patiently. Sam frowned,

"Even though you just saved his ass?"

That earnt him a dirty look from Dean, a narrow-eyed death glare that retorted with a silent sentence all of its own. _I'd have thought of something_. Not quite picking up on the tension Cal simply laughed, his good-natured expression drawing a smile from Sam. To hell with Dean, Cal was an all right guy.

"Well you see," he continued, settling back to rest a lazy arm across the top of his chair, "When me and your brother first met I wasn't quite as…disciplined as I am now,"

The sentence drew a wry snort from Dean, both agreement and derision rolled into one. Cal glanced down briefly but his passive expression didn't change and instead he nodded acceptingly,

"Honestly? I was a bit of a punk. I had a gun and I sure as hell wasn't afraid to use it. To say I had a chip on my shoulder would have been an understatement – ,"

"From what I remember you weren't too good with orders either,"

They were almost the first words Dean had spoken in forty minutes and although Sam had been silently willing him to say something they were far from the warm and cosy burying of past differences that he'd hoped for. He frowned instead, letting Cal continue with a laid-back chuckle,

"No I wasn't, I hold my hands up to that. But back then I thought I was invincible,"

He didn't seem to be taking Dean's gruff comments to heart – which was a blessing – but he was succeeding in drawing in Sam. After all, whatever Cal had done to piss his older brother off so monumentally Sam saw no evidence of it. Instead he saw a man of Dean's age, clean-shaven and clad in black leather with slicked-back hair and a pleasant, self-effacing manner. In a world where the other people in their profession were usually a good ten years older, battered, bruised and rough looking with all the amiability of an angry rhino, Cal was something of a revelation. He was like them.

"So what changed?" Sam asked, watching as the other hunter's face briefly slipped into a more mournful expression, his fingers toying absently with the brim of his glass. He took a deep breath before responding,

"My dad died, about six months back."

"Wow," _Way to put your foot in it Sam_, "I'm sorry to hear that,"

"Jerry was a good guy," Dean added from beside them, his tone grudging but sincere. _Better than you_. Cal didn't seem to pick up on the silent implication although Sam was fast starting to suspect it was down more to thick skin than an actual lack of awareness. Not rising to the bait, that was pretty impressive. If it were Dean he'd already have been swinging.

"Yeah," came the reply, apparently appreciating the sincerity of Dean's statement, "He was."

"How'd it happen?"

"Dean – ,"

A hand stopped Sam's tirade before it even began, Cal managing a small smile in the younger man's direction and a shrug,

"It's okay," he paused again, taking a deep breath, "It was a spirit, I managed to set the bastard's bones alight just…not quick enough. My old man put himself in between us and…it threw him out of a window, seven storeys up. He died protecting me."

For a moment no one spoke and as Sam glanced sideways he could even sense the sombre reverence in Dean. After all, if anyone knew what it was like to a have a parent sacrifice themselves for a child it was Dean, although hadn't their mother done that for Sam too? Taken on a demon in the midst of her youngest son's nursery? Maybe they all had something in common.

Sensing the mood had taken something of a turn however, Cal shrugged again, taking a long draft of his drink and mustering a brighter expression,

"Still, I guess in a weird way it gave me the push I needed. It might be too late for him to see, but I'm finally the hunter my dad always wanted me to be and I'm a better person for it too."

Dean snorted dryly,

"Got a book coming out too doctor?"

Cal was there before Sam could even blink, matching the sarcasm with outright amusement,

"Yeah, it's called 'killing with a smile on your face; you can do it too,' it's gonna be huge,"

Sam grinned in response, surprised by both Cal's mildness of character and his verbal disarming of Dean. It wasn't every day that somebody did that, nor did Dean take too kindly to it, draining the rest of his drink in a single gulp and standing from the table abruptly,

"I'll be at the bar."

They watched him go in silence, Sam not missing the vaguely offended glare that told him Dean did not appreciate his getting so friendly with Cal. Sam ignored him with a roll of his eyes. Sometimes, for an older brother, Dean really could be pretty immature, turning and shouldering his way through the crowd towards a perky redheaded barmaid. At least that would brighten his mood.

"Did I offend him?"

Sam turned back, surprised to find Cal studying the retreating back with a look of vague concern on his face. He shook his head emphatically,

"Nah, he's just bent out of shape that he couldn't handle tonight on his own,"

"A hunter has his pride Sam,"

Unbelievable, even when Dean was a complete jerk Cal still defended him.

"Yeah well, if he won't say it then I will. Thanks for helping out back there."

"My pleasure,"

The moment seemed to merit another toast and as Sam threw back the last of his coke, relishing the sobriety that followed, Cal paused, suddenly seeming awkward again.

"Hey," he began hesitantly, gaze jerking between Sam and the tabletop, "I uh, heard about your father," there wasn't a lot to say to that and perhaps sensing it, Cal continued, "I know my dad always spoke really highly of him, Dean too. He was a great man."

"Yeah," suddenly whisky didn't seem like such a bad idea after all, "I mean, I guess it hit us pretty hard at first, Dean especially but…" Sam tailed off with a shrug, hoping it came across more optimistically than he felt. It obviously had, Cal was nodding anyway,

"They were close, I remember that much from when we worked together,"

Sam nodded back, slowly beginning to lose himself in the familiar haze of memories and wishing he could conjure up happier ones than he got,

"They were."

"But you and your dad? Not so much?" It was a tentative question, prying but with enough conviction to turn it into more of a statement than a query. Sam snorted wryly,

"Kind of. I guess I never really fitted what my dad wanted a hunter to be. Too many questions, not enough following orders."

It was an admission he'd rarely even made to himself, let alone others although it was the unmistakeable truth. Once upon a time Sam had managed to convince himself that his shirking of the rules had lost him his father's love and although he knew differently now the tension that had come with the last few years under his father's control was still palpable.

"Oh I know how that feels all right,"

The admission caught Sam by surprise and it shook him from his reverie long enough to blink across at Cal semi-questioningly,

"You?"

"Yep," the other man nodded, rubbing at his tumbler with a thumb again, seemingly his natural habit when either uncertain or else deep in thought, "I mean I might be the man my father wanted me to be _now_, but back then? When Dean met us? I was nowhere near. No matter what I did I just seemed to drive a wedge further between us, I wanted to do my own thing and he…well, I know now that he was just trying to keep me safe, prepare me for when he wasn't around anymore, but back then I just couldn't see it. To be honest I thought he hated me…for a while I thought I hated him. Funny what you realise when it's too late."

Sam nodded mutely, trying to swallow down the lump in his throat. In the space of almost a year he'd lost his girlfriend and his father and the things he wanted – _needed_ – to say to both of them were almost too painful to bear.

"You were lucky though," Cal continued, breaking the moment suddenly and managing to sound a little lighter as he took another sip of his drink, "Having Dean I mean,"

Sam blinked,

"Dean?"

"Yeah, as a foil for the two of you. Giving you the freedom to rebel knowing that there would always be someone there to back your old man up even if it wasn't you. That's not a luxury I ever got, it was me or no-one," he chuckled suddenly, "I tell you the times I wished I'd had a brother…" the sentence tailed off in a sigh, Cal offering up a helpless shrug in place of words, "Still, you get what you're given I suppose."

Finishing his drink Cal stretched out his arms, working through the muscles and then glancing over, seemingly almost embarrassed by his admission,

"It was real nice working with you Sam," he offered finally, "Nice to work as part of a team again. You miss that when you're on your own."

Yeah, Sam could just imagine. As much as he'd loved college and his existence there he'd spent his whole life as part of a functioning unit, a team. Being alone had been a strange and unsettling feeling, especially at first and suddenly he felt for Cal, a solitary hunter through no fault or choice of his own.

"Maybe we can do this again some time, huh?" the older man continued with a sigh, pushing himself onto his feet with a glance at his watch, "Buddy up on something?"

"Sure," not that Sam was accustomed to answering for Dean, or that Dean would be pleased at such a response. Still, Dean was busy with the redhead so it really didn't matter either way, "Where're you headed next?"

Shrugging himself back into his jacket, Cal shrugged off-hand,

"There's something a couple of states over I was going to take a look at, suspicious drownings in some reservoir,"

Sam blinked. A reservoir? That was a lot of water for one hunter to search and deal with alone.

"Sounds like a pretty big job," they both knew where he was heading and they both knew that Dean was going to kill him for it.

"What?" Cal frowned, staring at him with cautious, appraising eyes, "You two want in?"

"We could have a look."

"Yeah?"

Dean was _definitely_ going to kill him.

"Yeah."

He was a dead man.

* * *

Well, _still_ feel crappy and am now starting to get annoyed at myself. Being able to move at no speed above a shuffle is getting old! Although thanks to my trusty extension lead I do at least have the laptop on the sofa with me so am managing to get work (and this story) done!

And now for more painkillers…


	7. Chapter 7

Thanks to everyone who's reviewed, I'm glad you're enjoying it and keep 'em coming! Oh and still feeling a little under the weather so probably missed a few glaring errors - let me know anyway!

* * *

**Chapter Seven.**

"**Don't Do Me Any Favours."**

Sam didn't see Dean until the next morning, his unchanged clothing and a lipstick smudge on the collar of his rumpled shirt answering the question about where he'd spent the night.

Obviously he was still in some sort of a mood, if the way he strode silently into the room and straight into the shower by-passing any sort of conversation with his younger brother was anything to go by. It was the silent treatment all right, luckily for both of them however Sam was big enough to make the first move.

"Look Dean – ," he didn't get any further than that, Dean cutting him off quickly with razor sharp sarcasm,

"What?" he began, spreading his hands wide and casting around the room in exaggeration, "No Cal? The way you two were getting along last night I half expected to see you cuddled up together,"

Sam grit his teeth, _temper, keep your temper_,

"Cute Dean," he shot back, "Very funny."

"What was it again? A toast to a job well done?"

"You know…" as Dean wandered around the room pulling on clothes, Sam turned to watch him from the foot of the bed, a flicker of offended antagonism creeping into his tone. If Dean wanted to play this particular game, then fine, there was plenty he needed to hear himself, "I don't get what your problem is," that stopped Dean in his tracks, although he didn't care to respond leaving the way clear open for Sam to continue, "Cal saved your butt out there and all you can do is snipe at him? I mean, okay, I get it. Last time you met him he was a jerk, but that was a long time ago Dean. He's _changed_."

For a moment he thought the derisive snort was all he was going to get,

"Really," at the continuing sarcasm however, he'd wished it was, "He's changed has he? And you'd be a good judge of that would you Sam? I mean, knowing him so well and everything."

He was stuffing clothes into his bag as he spoke, balling up his meagre wardrobe and piling them in after one another haphazardly. Sam sighed, realising that at the very least Dean had the vaguest hint of a point,

"I just, feel sorry for him, that's all,"

"_Sorry_ for him?"

"Yeah," he shrugged, the fight dying away. If he was going to convince Dean to take the new job alongside Cal then arguing wasn't the way to do it, "The guy's got no-one,"

"Well at least that's one person less he can get killed,"

Sam ignored him pointedly,

"Can people not make mistakes?"

"Mistakes yeah!" Dean shot back, his tone still fiery, "Hell, I've made mistakes myself – ,"

"Then why are you still holding this grudge against Cal?"

"Because what Cal did wasn't a mistake,"

Heaving a long breath, Sam shook his head, biting down his growing frustration. They were getting nowhere.

"Yeah, about that, what exactly did he do again?"

"It's not _what_ he did Sam, it's how he did it. I'm telling you, I've met some soulless sons of bitches in my time, but Cal? He's just about the coldest. Mistakes you can learn from, sure. But you can't just grow a conscience,"

It was a sobering sentence, but again it gave Sam next to nothing except the knowledge that whatever was fuelling his brother's resolve wasn't about to break.

"Even though he helped us out last night?"

"Yeah," Dean snorted again, back to packing the last of his items, "_Helped_."

Sam face furrowed into a frown at once,

"What?"

"Come on," Dean sniped back, zipping shut his bag and dumping it down heavily beside the door, "Don't you think it was just a bit of a coincidence that Cal showed up at the exact moment the weapons went missing?"

Sam blinked, _he cannot be serious_, the absurdity of the situation drawing a laugh of disbelief,

"Missing? You think _Cal_ took them on purpose?"

Dean shrugged, his bravado slipping a little as he tentatively floated his theory out across the room.

"Maybe."

"Why?"

"This, Sam!" he snapped back, waving a hand between them, "To get us..._you_ on side!"

Okay, this time Dean had lost it. It had always been bound to happen, what with everything they went through on a daily not to mention yearly basis, but even Sam had expected Dean's eventual breakdown to manifest in a more spectacular form than plain old paranoia.

"For what?"

"I don't know!"

Nodding slowly and silently weighing up his options, Sam blinked, no longer annoyed by the conversation but amused.

"And you don't think you just forgot where you put the bag down?" he asked, earning a death-glare in return,

"I've never forgotten where I put the bag down Sam, I tend to remember things when my life depends on it," Dean was back to sarcasm again, biting and something of a return to form. Maybe the breakdown was pending instead of actually happening. Still, Sam wasn't buying it.

"I don't know Dean, it was a cemetery. One headstone looks pretty much like another. You just might have – ,"

"There was a mark on the grass!"

Abruptly Sam was confused again,

"What grass?"

"Where the bag was – ," quickly Dean paused, amending the statement as the conversation grew rapidly more complex and irritating, "Where I _thought _– I mean, where I _put_ the bag down. There was a mark in the grass. I'm telling you Sam, someone moved it."

He looked sincere enough, which Sam bought instantly, maybe the bag had been moved, but if it had then there was a more readily available suspect to hand,

"You never thought that maybe Drake moved the bag?"

"The vetala?" Dean frowned,

"Why not?"

"Well considering the fact it was pretty much either on top of me or beating the crap out of me I gotta tell you I don't think it had a whole lot of time to go moving things about."

Sam sighed, was it possible to run out of sarcasm? Because if it was then it certainly wasn't happening to Dean.

"Well it wasn't Cal," he offered in response, bringing the argument to an abrupt halt as they hit an impasse. Dean eyed him steadily, the severity of his gaze almost unnerving, the big brother look he'd used so often and that never failed to make Sam squirm. It was a direct challenge.

"You sure about that?"

He swallowed uneasily, sticking to his ground.

"Yeah. I am."

Without another word Dean swung back towards the door, stooping to collect his holdall, a silent message that they needed to get going. As far as he was concerned the quicker the better, Sam however was not done talking and taking a deep breath he finally managed to spit out what he'd been building up to – although ideally it would have been on better terms.

"I told him we'd take a look at some job he's got,"

For a moment Dean said nothing, simply looking back at him in surprise. Sam getting a job certainly saved him the legwork and so he nodded slowly,

"Okay."

Sam winced, it was about to get worse.

"With him."

"What?" horror replaced the caution in an instant, "You're kidding. Why the hell did you do that?!"

"We _owe_ him,"

"For what?"

Sam all but groaned, for the love of God. Did Dean really have that short a memory?

"Last night,"

"No," abruptly Dean was pointing at him, a dangerous, warning tone to his voice, "No, okay? I saved his life once, he saved mine. We're even."

"You saved his life?" That was a new revelation, although as with most things Dean didn't seem to want to talk about it, instead shrugging and turning away to mutter under his breath, "When? On that hunt with dad?"

"Forget it Sam, the point is, we're not taking this hunt," he was serious again, his entire expression dark. He didn't get much more severe than that, but as far as Sam was concerned there was a bigger problem. He'd given Cal his word and if there was one thing Winchester's didn't do then it was back down easily, "He's dangerous."

"It's too late, I already told him we would,"

"Tough."

"I'm going Dean, whether you like it or not!"

They were both aware of the pettiness of the conversation, with Sam sounding as much like a fifteen year old refusing a grounding as a grown-man laying down the law. All they needed was their dad stood there in the middle and he _could_ have been fifteen again – not that he'd want to be. It had been hard enough the first time around.

"Sam – ,"

They were interrupted by a loud tapping at the door, both brothers exchanging a look before Sam rose from the bed to open it. Dean didn't move, either knowing or at the very least suspecting who it was. He wasn't wrong. Cal stood on the threshold before them, looking bright and perky from what had obviously been a good night's sleep. He was raring to go.

"Hey Sam," he beamed, letting himself in and seemingly missing the tension positively zinging in the air overhead, "Dean," he got only a curt nod for his troubles with the latter, brushing off the gruffness with his customary indifference, "Ready to go?"

In the silence that followed, Dean glared long and hard at Sam, the argument continuing silently between them. Finally however he let loose a long sigh that could just have easily been a growl and stooped again to collect up his bag,

"I guess so," he spat out, earning a sigh of relief from Sam. The truth was if Dean had bailed on him Sam wasn't so sure he'd have had the strength to stay. Sure he and Dean had split up before, but that had been over their father, not some relative stranger. He may have felt sympathy and a sense of gratitude towards Cal, but blood was always going to be thicker than water. As Dean stomped out of the room however, Sam flashed a smile at the other hunter,

"Looks like."

"Everything okay in here?" Cal asked tentatively, dropping his voice a little and obviously keen for Dean not to hear. Sam nodded quickly,

"Yeah, everything's fine."

"Well, if you say so," came the response, Cal clearly not convinced, "You uh, think it would be easier to ride with me?"

It was the same cautious offer that Dean had first put to him years ago, when he'd first got the Impala and started to think that his brother and father riding together was a recipe for disaster. He'd been largely right. The nostalgia made Sam clear his throat suddenly and turning back to Cal he managed a forced smile and shook his head,

"No, honestly, it's fine," it wasn't the most convincing answer he'd ever given, but he gave it anyway. "Really. Me and Dean are good."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight.**

**"When Dean First Met Cal – Part Three."**

_As the gunshot echoed around the clearing, rattling the birds from the trees with the flapping of hasty wings, Dean rose a sleeve to his face, rubbing off the loose droplets of blood flecking his skin. Cal stood a few paces back, his face a glower of deep-rooted discontent,_

_"You'd waste a bullet on a thing like that?" he muttered darkly. _

_Dean turned back towards him, the anger driving his fingers into a death-grip around the handle of the gun._

_"You want to talk to me about wasting bullets?" he snapped back fiercely. Cal knew what he meant. The werewolf was riddled with bullets, each of them slow-bleeders. Cal had been content to play with it, let it stagger to a halt and bleed out before him alive with pain and suffering. He hadn't even blinked._

_Dean knew the hatred of a hunter, he knew it too well. The drive to kill everything out there that posed a threat, the cold and calculated hunt finished by the bloodlust. He knew it all right, but there was a fine line between duty and sadism and Cal had walked right on over it like it didn't even exist._

_His eyes still travelled over the creature as it transformed back into the figure of a human, a young woman with long brown curls that had once been so carefully styled relegated to a pool of blood and dirt on some woodland floor, the pale white skin lying naked and shot-through amongst the green scrub. If Cal's gaze had been intense when the creature had been dying, then it was almost possessed as the change took place, the wild glint in his eyes fast moving between bloodthirsty to what Dean could only describe as some sort of lustful excitement._

_The sick bastard was actually aroused by the whole thing? Of all the creepy - _

_Dean grabbed him quickly by the sleeve, spinning him around with such force that the other man almost lost his footing entirely, staggering briefly before managing to right himself. The glare turned his way,_

_"What the hell is your problem Winchester?" he snapped, his tone sounding almost petulant with his use of the surname, "Too much for you? What, Daddy never let you get this close before?"_

_"I swear if you don't shut your mouth, I'll do it for you," _

_"Is that so?"_

_A quick fist to the jaw shut Cal up moments later, the knuckles cracking against the side of his chin in a split second, a flash of power that left him grounded in the dirt beside the body, one hand in the blood. He landed with a yelp, the air literally being driven out of him._

_"You dirty – ," the words were hushed and strained as he struggled for breath, but he didn't get any further because suddenly Dean's attention was no longer on him, instead standing silently, hand held up in an appeal for silence and his head tipped towards the veritable jungle beyond._

_"Sssh."_

_They were calling for him, for both of them, their names carrying faintly through the trees, desperate sounding and full of warning._

_There _was _something wrong, Dean had just known it. _

_The blur that burst out of the greenery towards them however took both by surprise, knocking Dean from his feet with the accompaniment of a furious, feral-sounding growl _

_A werewolf stood before them. Another one, and suddenly they didn't need to guess the reason their fathers were calling for them._

_There were two of the things._

* * *

I tried to spread this one out a bit to make it look longer...hmmm, not sure it worked! And by the way, Cal might be a_ little _disturbed here, or at least that's what I was going for!

Thanks for the reviewing everybody, it gives me something to look forward to when I drag myself in from work wishing I got sick pay so I could stay tucked up under my sheets instead! Oh well, no rest for the wicked etc, etc...


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine.**

"**The Wrong Place, The Wrong Time."**

Once again it was Sam who managed to provide all the research, doing so with his usual insistence on fine detail characterised by long rambles on mythological genealogy that were often more lectures than briefings. Still, after sifting through several possibilities he did finally manage to arrive at a likely suspect for Cal's reservoir drownings – a water hag, specifically focussing on the lore around Jenny Greenteeth an Old English variant who was prone to pulling in and devouring small children.

Cal, for his part, did nothing to help on the investigation front, simply sitting back as Dean sifted news clippings and nodding in what appeared to be mock-enthusiasm as Sam filtered through pages of text and traditional folklore. Once a water hag was identified however, he was all eagerness.

"Well what are we waiting for then?" he'd beamed, bouncing from his chair and clapping hands together, "Let's waste it!"

Despite Dean's protests Sam had let Cal lay down the plan, arguing with his brother in a hissed whisper that it had been the other hunter's job in the first place. Dean had countered with the fact that they had done all the work but it hadn't seemed to matter and seconds later Cal had been offering a less than perfect plan.

"Ok, we all split up, divide the reservoir into three and each try and draw her out."

"No,"

Dean had not been buying. The last thing he wanted was Sam in any sort of proximity to Cal, especially if he was alone and in a position where he could need back up. Cal was not good enough to cover Sam's back. He wasn't good enough to cover anyone's back. Sam however had frowned,

"It makes sense Dean,"

_Did it?_ Cal too had seemed eager to placate any fears,

"Okay, we just make a quick sweep. We don't find anything, we meet up and do a more thorough search together. Sound better?"

Only mildly, but since Sam seemed keen to fall into line with whatever Cal said – which in itself was grating enough – he didn't have a lot of choice.

"Fine."

Dean's search ended up being the wooded section at the far side of the reservoir, a mass of tall trees and sweeping branches dipping down into the gently rippling water which meant wrestling a path through the undergrowth – a fact clearly at odds with the route Cal chose for himself along the well-marked hikers' trail. Dean's dissent was palpable but following a quick exchange of looks with Sam he mercifully kept quiet. It was probably best he take his anger out on the branches anyway.

Sam's section took him directly along the most frequently used part of the reservoir, past the picnic benches that had been so well used in the summer and the little fishermen's jetties jutting out over the glassy stillness beyond. Around him everything sat quiet in the dark, the lack of sound making the calm swish of water against the banks sound vaguely thunderous, a constant lapping almost rhythmic in tone, like a natural beat, the crunch of his feet against the path the only other noise that offset the natural silence.

Somewhere in the dark across the other side of the reservoir, Sam could almost see Dean in his mind's eye, stomping through the tree line, gripping his gun and probably muttering death wishes about Cal.

The whole thing was still intriguing, intriguing in the sense that Sam still had no idea where his brother's bad blood had come from. It wasn't often Dean held a grudge, only usually against those who hurt or threatened his family and if that had been the case then Cal wouldn't even have survived the first night. The only other explanation was the sketchy one Dean had given him earlier about Cal being without a conscience, only that didn't make sense either. Men without consciences rarely saved the lives of others. Then there was the whole magical moving bag thesis Dean had, which was just insane. After all, who put someone in harm's way just to save them again? What did Cal possibly have to gain from such a scheme and where were the guarantees that a plan like that would have worked anyway? What if Dean had managed to get the upper hand over the vetala in the first place? What if it had thrown him down next to where the bag had actually been? No, Cal was all right even if Dean's caution made Sam hang back just a little. He didn't want to disbelieve his older brother but what it all seemed to boil down to was Dean's refusal to accept the fact that Cal was, in whatever sense, a reformed character. It was an endless puzzle but abruptly it fell from his mind as the sound of something hitting the water drew his attention back to the job at hand, a loud and heavy splash that echoed in off the trees and sent the calm waters bobbing violently around the bank.

Raising his gun upwards and swallowing hard Sam stepped in towards the nearest jetty, the toe of his boot inching out onto the cold damp wood as he peered down into the churning ripples, shot through with a cloud of mud and silt disturbed from the bed. There was no sign of anything that had caused the disturbance, no tracks on the bank, no figures or forms in the water, seemingly nothing under the surface. Cautiously he stepped fully onto the wooden walkway, taking it one shuffle at a time, his eyes alive for signs of sudden movement.

There was nothing.

Or at least there wasn't until the jetty gave way beneath his feet, the wood breaking clean through and dropping him into the drink with a suddenness that left him with no time to even shout out a warning.

The water was shockingly cold, ripping the breath right out of him as he submerged completely, the cold compressing his chest and seeping into every inch of his being as his surroundings reduced to a field of bubbles and oppressive blackness. It took him a second to regain his senses but quickly he kicked out, driving himself upwards with a furious urgency for breath as panic began to claim him.

He was in the middle of a pitch-black expanse of water with a human-devouring hag in it. Yeah, he needed to get out.

His head hit the solid underside of the jetty with a hard crack, sending his vision reeling and making him involuntarily open his mouth in a yelp of surprise. The water gushed in at once and abruptly the panic descended full-force as further realisation hit him. The jetty had collapsed above him and he was trapped. Underneath it. Underwater. _Oh God_.

Instinctively Sam's hands shot upwards, pushing his weight against the wood and being rewarded by a vague shift, the merest hint of compliance as it lifted up and away from the water. Just as he was anticipating success however it suddenly slammed down again, hard and uneven, ramming into his skull once more. Something was pushing it down onto him. Something was trying to drown him and it was starting to succeed as he hammered with his palms against the solid wood, his chest on the verge of bursting as it pushed him further and further downwards, pressing him into the bed with such force that he didn't even have the space to swim around it.

Where was Dean? Where was Cal?

A gunshot answered his question, the sound loud even underwater and ricocheting off the bottom of the lake. Splashing somewhere to his left and a sudden swell and change in the water told him that something else had entered the drink. A minute earlier and he might have been concerned but as he struggled to stay conscious his priorities shifted. As his chest began to spasm painfully, he opened his mouth in an involuntary response, the water rushing in again and cutting a way down his throat. He began to cough violently, being met with nothing but the rush of water and a horrifying sense that he was drowning.

He barely felt the wood shift away from above him until hands dove in through the water, hauling him up onto the surface and pulling him backwards into a solid chest.

He felt the air before he could breathe it, too busy coughing up great mouthfuls of the muddy water to be able to draw in any oxygen, weakly allowing himself to be hauled back towards the bank and dragged onto dry land with a grunt from his rescuer. Belatedly Cal fell into view, his face a picture of worry,

"Sam?" he barked, "Hey, Sam? You okay there?"

Rolling over to expand his lungs, Sam continued to cough, mixing it for the first time with an intake of air, scratchy and painful against his throat but air nonetheless. The relief felt brilliant.

"Y – yeah," he managed to croak through an alternate mixture of coughing and shuddering gasps, earning himself a hard slap on the back from Cal who was abruptly grinning with the thrill of the chase,

"Holy hell!" he exclaimed, "That thing almost had you!"

Sam blinked, understanding starting to filter into his brain through waves of relief. The water hag. He was about to ask what had happened to her when suddenly the moment was interrupted by a shout of alarm followed by the thud of heavy boots thundering in their direction,

"Sam!" It was Dean, even through water-filled ears he would have recognised that single syllable anywhere, managing a half-way normal breath as his brother drew in close and dropped into a squat beside him, one hand taking up a ball of soaked clothing and the tone softening slightly in a combination of all-out concern and a demand for some sort of reply, "Sammy?"

"'M'okay," he croaked unconvincingly, starting another series of watery coughs and obliging limply as Dean pulled him upright into a floppy sitting position, bracing him against his own side. Dean didn't seem particularly sold, instead turning to glare at Cal who had respectfully backed off a few paces and was watching quietly,

"What the hell happened?" he growled, the anger in his voice almost sharp with hatred. Sam winced on Cal's behalf unable to muster the strength to defend him. The other hunter was on his own, nor apparently, did he seem to mind much.

"I don't know," came the casual reply with a shrug as Cal paced towards the water's edge and peered in, gun still clenched in his hand, "I heard a splash and the next thing I know that damn old hag is sitting on top of the walkway pinning Sam under,"

Dean blinked, his incredulity momentarily tempering his rage,

"Wait. She pinned him under?" he repeated, as if for clarification. Cal nodded,

"Yep. Damned if I knew they could do that but I guess Sam here is a lot bigger than the kids she usually goes for," he shook his head absently, scanning the water and then turning around as he came to a conclusion, "Good thing I got back in time, few more seconds and he'd have been a goner."

The statement stalled Dean's retort, the truth regardless of the circumstances not something he liked to hear and unconsciously he tightened his grip on Sam's shirt, feeling the chest heaving under him as his brother began to better regulate his breathing, the coughing subsiding to an occasional splutter alongside deep drags of air.

"What happened to the hag?" he asked instead, sensing that Sam was in no mood for an argument. Cal grinned suddenly, holding his shotgun close to his chest and laying an arm across it casually,

"Wasted her. Don't worry, she won't be back."

"You sure?" Dean fired at him, glare narrowing patronisingly,

"Yep."

The gaze he got back was unflinching and, realising that no more ground was or should be made while Sam was sitting beginning to shiver beneath him, Dean dropped his head and nodded slowly,

"Fine. Come on Sammy," turning back to his brother he to began to shrug gently out of his jacket, draping it carefully over the younger's shoulders and watching him nestle into it gratefully, "Let's get you back before you freeze, okay?"

If there was one thing neither of them needed then it was Sam sitting out on an icy November night soaked to the bone. Everything else could wait, well, almost everything.

"Dean?" Sam began quietly, his voice halting, "I dropped my gun,"

It was a strange admission, borne of shock and chill and ultimately completely unimportant. Dean laid a comforting hand on his shoulder, managing an amused smile,

"Don't worry about it Flipper,"

It didn't get an answer but it did get a responding smile and a vaguely derisive snort both of which were comforting. Straightening up, Dean helped Sam to his feet, taking most of his initial weight and standing still until he was sure Sam had his balance.

"You okay?" he asked again, receiving a more convincing nod,

"Yeah," another long drag of air, "I think so."

"Good," clapping him on one shoulder, Dean wheeled him in the direction of the car, gently pushing him forward, "I'll catch you up in a minute,"

"W – what? What are you going to – ,"

The look Sam got back was almost scornful,

"Look for that gun of yours, what do you think?"

Maybe a Sam that hadn't been half-drowned would have fought back against what was probably a blatant lie, but whatever his feelings on the matter for once the youngest Winchester was in no mood to argue, instead turning in an awkward shuffle for the pleasant vista where they'd parked the cars. Dean watched him go in silence, waiting until he was past the tree line before dropping his gaze and letting his emotions show. In the silence Cal went to step past him,

"Maybe I'll go help him out," he offered absently, "In case – ,"

He stopped abruptly as Dean's hand wrapped around his arm, dragging him back until they stood nose to nose beside the quietly lapping water.

"This ends, now,"

"What?" Cal replied, brow furrowing in confusion. Dean smirked, the other hunter knew exactly what he meant and they both knew it.

_Play stupid all you like Rudman, I'm not buying_.

"This. Working together," Dean wasn't holding back, nor did he feel the need to, "Tomorrow you pack your stuff and you leave. You don't call us about jobs, you don't call us ever. Got it?"

For a moment Cal didn't respond, a variety of unreadable emotions crossing his face, primarily hurt.

"Sure," he offered eventually, blinking and throwing in an awkward shrug, "I was going to head out anyway. There's a salt and burn I was looking at. One man job."

"Make sure it stays that way."

Shrugging out of his grip, Cal turned, his face so convincingly confused that for a moment even Dean's resolved wavered. Maybe Sam was right after all. It was only a fleeting thought.

"You know Dean," Cal offered before he turned and trudged away into the darkness, his tread defeated, his shoulders slumped and his final words echoing around the woodland, "You don't know me half as well as you think you do."

* * *

Hmmm, the plot thickens (or at least I hope it does!) So, what are we all thinking of Cal at this point?

Sorry, I forgot to upload yesterday, that's the trouble with working weekends and having days off mid-week, you never really know what day it is! Hope this was worth the (little) wait though!


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten.**

"**Don't Let The Door Hit You…"**

"Jerry Rudman's _dead_?"

As Bobby's familiarly gruff tone crackled across the phone line in clearly marked confusion, Dean sat back across the well-used little motel bed, listening to the springs creak underneath him and nodding although the older hunter was unable to see,

"Yep."

"You mean _dead_ dead?"

"As opposed to?"

A long sigh met the sarcastic response, Bobby obviously taking his time with the news,

"When?"

"About six months ago according to Cal,"

"He say where?"

Dean snorted, rubbing a hand across his weary face.

"Actually I was going to ask you the same thing. I've tried looking up Rudman but it doesn't come up with anything. Know any names that Jerry used to go by?"

He'd spent the better part of the morning on Sam's computer, tapping away silently as his younger brother had used up what had to have been most of the motel's hot water reserves. Once he was done Sam had skipped out to see Cal off, an invitation to the sad parting of ways that Dean had dismissed with a steady glare. He figured he had a few minutes longer at least.

"Want to tell me the reason you haven't just asked Cal all this?" Bobby shot back across the line, a slightly smirk to his voice. _Tell me what's really going on_. Dean should have been expecting it, still he didn't hesitate in answering.

"I don't trust him Bobby,"

"Yeah," came the sigh of agreement, "That boy's a weird one all right," a long pause followed in which Dean could almost hear the wheels turning in the older hunter's head, mentally dredging his reserves for something that might help before finally coming good, "Try Gonzalez."

"Gonzalez?"

"It was his wife's maiden name," Bobby offered by way of explanation, the intricacies of his memory never failing to impress, "If that doesn't work he went by Crusoe sometimes too,"

"Thanks Bobby."

"Don't mention it," Another short pause, followed by a question that he seemingly already knew the answer to, "Sam there?"

"He's saying goodbye to Cal,"

"So I take it he doesn't know about this either?"

Dean snorted, his fingers already busy tapping at the keys. G-O-N-Z-A-L-E-Z. Enter.

"No, he's too busy hailing Cal as the best thing to happen to humanity since somebody decided to start slicing-up bread,"

"Sounds like you got yourself a case of the green-eyed monster," Bobby chuckled back softly, falling into their usual pattern of banter since the business end of the conversation seemed to have finished. Dean's gaze narrowed unseen at once,

"Don't make me hang up on you."

As a beam of bright light spilled into the room Dean looked up, finding Sam silhouetted in the doorway and wrestling his key from the rusty old lock. He looked surprised to find his brother on the cell, his gaze at once curious. Dean sat up on instinct, the shift in his voice providing a subtle warning across the phone line.

"Err…yeah, okay,"

The older hunter kept it brief,

"I'll see what I can dig up from here."

"Thanks Bobby."

He cancelled the call a split second later, dropping the cell casually to the bed and turning the laptop closer towards him as Sam finally pulled free his key and stepped fully into the room.

"Cal get off all right?" Dean asked, trying to sound nonchalant but already tensing in case the answer was 'no.' Sam paused momentarily, blinking at him in a mixture of suspicion and amusement,

"He just left," he offered eventually, crossing towards his own bed and sitting down heavily, "What did Bobby want?"

"Nothing," Dean responded a little too quickly, his attention focused on the screen as he scrolled through the results for 'Jerry Gonzalez'. Sam's gaze narrowed,

"Nothing?"

Sensing his brother's beady eyes on him Dean looked up, taking in the continued suspicion and shrugging casually,

"No Sam, nothing. He was just checking up on us, okay?"

"That why you're researching?"

Sometimes that boy was just too perceptive for his own good.

"Look Sam – ,"

"Whatever Dean, you don't want to tell me that's your business."

_Damn it._ That was Dean's line, the one he'd constantly used throughout their childhood to get his younger brother to spill his troubles or secrets. Having it flung back at him was _not_ fun.

"How you feeling anyway?" he asked instead, changing tactics stealthily and gazing over the top of the screen across the room as Sam started to cough.

"I'm fine," he offered back, pausing slightly and suppressing an instinctive quiver as an image of the previous night's events caught up with him. A claustrophobic feeling of being hemmed in, surrounded by gallon upon gallon of black and unending water. Dean was still watching him, picking up on the vague shudder.

"You sure about that?"

Sam shook the memory away fiercely, wrestling back control of his own head and managing to sound more positive when he answered,

"Yeah. Cal saved me, remember?"

He was trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to convince his brother, but the snort that Dean let slip in the seconds that followed stalled the internal argument dead.

"Yeah," came the sarcastic rejoinder, "_Cal_."

Sam blinked. They were _still_ on this? _Really_? Because it was starting to get old.

"Come on Dean, knock it off."

"What?"

"_This_," he hissed, his voice raising an octave and his frustration only growing as his brother's continued attention focused squarely on the screen in front of him, "I mean I get that you two have some big mysterious history you won't talk about, but what more does the guy have to do to prove himself? I mean, he saves you, he saves me – ,"

Again he was met by a snort, the derisive noise fast becoming rage-inducing. What the hell was it in aid of now?

"Yeah, about that," Dean cut in, his eyes lifting from the computer long enough to fix firmly onto Sam's, the calm and confident smirk only serving to increase the tension, "Bit of a coincidence there as well don't you think?"

The sentence stopped Sam in his tracks, both surprising and confusing him in one go.

"What?"

Dean was warming to his theory,

"I mean, first the weapons just up and move while I'm fighting that damn vetala – which was Cal's hunt by the way, and then that water hag somehow manages to pin you underwater and the _only _one of us that sees her is Cal, who just also happens to be the one that blows her away. I mean, did you see any evidence she'd been there Sam? Any scratch marks on the bank? Any signs of a fight? Because I sure as hell didn't!"

It seemed neither of them was much in the mood to conduct a balanced conversation about the matter.

"_Cal_?" Sam responded bluntly, his disbelief coming across as a breathless laugh, "You think Cal tried to kill me?" Judging from his even gaze, yes he did. Sam groaned audibly, "This whole thing is insane Dean…" abruptly he dropped his voice to a mutter, turning his head as he spoke, "Cal was right."

"What?" It was an addition that instantly had Dean's hackles up, his whole body positively bristling, "What was that?"

Instantly Sam knew he shouldn't have said anything. It was a cheap shot and he was better than cheap shots. His response was a dull mumble,

"Nothing,"

If he knew one thing about his brother though, it was that Dean never let go easy. He was like a dog over a chew toy, he'd just keep pulling and pulling until he got it, growing more ferocious with every tug. His counter was immediately sharp with mock-enthusiasm,

"Oh no Sammy, please. Tell me, what did the great Almighty Cal Rudman say to you?"

He wasn't letting go, nor was Sam in any mood to fight. He just wanted to curl into a ball and wish it all away. As if the month wasn't bad enough already, reminding him constantly of what he'd lost, suddenly he found himself fighting with – no, hurting the only family he had left. It was just some stupid throwaway comment the other hunter had made anyway, when Sam had been out front trying to again apologise for Dean's continued lack of courtesy. The response had been typically casual and off-hand, classic Cal.

"_Don't worry about it Sammy. He's just, you know, pissed that we've got so much in common. I get it, really I do. No biggie."_

"He just…" Sam broke off with a sigh, trying to find the right words and failing under Dean's continued glare, "He said you were…well, jealous,"

Dean snorted in response, more at the fact it was a claim that seemed to have been leveled at him a lot more than he'd thought in the past day but the noise coming across as more of a derisive dismissal,

"Of _him_?"

That would be the day. Sam was shaking his head,

"No. Of the fact we're quite like each other me and him," he shrugged again, seeming either embarrassed or disheartened. Actually seeming both, "I guess."

Dean blinked, not exactly following and seeing more in the sentence to object to than take offence at. His reply was vehement with denial.

"You are _nothing _like him Sam,"

"Come on Dean, the guy spent his whole life trying to prove himself to his father and now it's too late. Doesn't that sound a little like me?"

"No," okay, so maybe it did, but that didn't mean Dean had to accept it.

"Dean – ," But suddenly the conversation seemed to be over, Dean's gaze widening as his eyes fell across something on the screen, his lips turning up into a smirk. Sam's brow folded in confusion at the sudden change, watching as his older brother reached for a pen and paper, frantically jotting something down, "What? Dean?"

He was on his feet even before Sam had finished the sentence, grabbing his jacket and folding the scrap of paper into his pocket.

"Stay here Sam," he commanded quickly, not even bothering to look his way as he checked his pocket for his fake FBI badge.

"Where are you going?" Sam's voice sounded croaky as he responded, baffled and concerned as he watched the sudden development in vague alarm. He didn't get his answer, or at least not the one he wanted.

"To see if Cal really is so innocent," Dean offered instead, grabbing his keys from the table and offering a final word, flung over his shoulder as he stalked towards the door, "Get some rest Sam, you look like hell," the casualness of the tone told him not to worry but given that moments ago they'd been arguing, Sam couldn't help but continue to stare after him in puzzlement, "I'll be back later."

"Dean – ,"

The slamming door told him it was too late and sitting back onto the bed with sigh Sam listened to the Impala roar into life in the parking lot outside. Sometimes, he just did not understand his brother and what was with the whole thing about Cal? What exactly was Dean going to prove and why the hell couldn't he go along? Yeah, yeah, all right, maybe Dean had a point that he was still exhausted from the night before – he'd hardly slept thanks to the flashbacks and his older brother obviously knew it, but leaving him alone for the afternoon was hardly going to help. He knew what would though and with a groan he heaved himself upright and determined to head for the bar.

Hangover be damned, sometimes it was worth the pain.

* * *

For some reason these days I can't seem to go a whole story without inserting Bobby somewhere! Oh well, the more the merrier I guess!

As ever thanks for all the reviews, I'm enjoying seeing what people are thinking and giggling that my plot hasn't been completely rumbled as yet! (Evil laugh) There's plenty more to come though!


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven.**

"**When Dean First Met Cal – Part Four."**

_From his position on the ground staring at an upside down version of the world Dean had a perfect view of the werewolf diving straight over him, a mass of sinew and muscle powering past in a single silent leap._

_It came to a standstill hunkered down on all fours in front of Cal, a rumble emanating from its throat like a deep bass note, shaking the surroundings as it crept forwards, eyes glowing like bright darts of colour in the dark. _

_For a second it paused, sniffing almost dog-like the scent of blood hanging in the air before turning to prowl around the body of the young woman lying beyond them. _

_Dean took the opportunity to roll swiftly onto his side, clambering onto his knees and trying not to rustle the leaves beneath him as he did. _

_The howl caught him by surprise, a long, low note shot-through with utter desolation as the large male werewolf in front of them mourned its loss in a more sorrowful show than Dean would have credited such a creature._

_From the corner of his eye he could see Cal retrieving his gun from the dirt, pulling back the trigger and aiming it head-height at the beast. The blood lust was in his eyes again, the same familiar smirk playing across his face. He really was sadistic._

_"Hey, Fido," he called, tone eerily calm as he watched the wolf swivel towards him with growing hatred in its eyes. It might have been non-human but it knew what had happened and it knew who was responsible. _

_Cal's smirk widened, _

_"Fetch."_

_The sound of the hammer hitting an empty chamber reverberated around the little clearing as loudly as a gunshot itself, Cal's smirk rapidly fading away to be replaced instead with dull and growing horror. _

_Dean could have cursed. That damn idiot – ._

_The werewolf knew this one too. It was the sound that meant retribution._

_Before either hunter could move, the wolf had bound clear across the gap, tackling Cal to the ground in mid-turn, catching his heels and tripping him as tried to flee. It was on top of him in a second, slashing and letting the hunter writhe and shout out with pain underneath him. _

_Just as it dipped its head however Dean sprang onto his feet, eyes leaving the fight long enough to bring up his own gun and aim it at the head. Cal was squirming underneath the ball of fur, yelping and groaning and it was all Dean could do to avoid a limb as he fired, dead-centre into the back of the head. _

_The assault stopped at once, the commotion dying away until only Cal's ragged breathing was sounding around them, the werewolf still crouched above him like some strange tableau before eventually toppling sideways into the grass and lying unmoving. _

_It was changing back even as Dean stepped over it, crouching down and pulling Cal upright by the seams of his jacket._

_"Cal?" he barked, the sense of urgency being rewarded only by a wince and the other man pushing his arms away in distaste,_

_"Get off me," he muttered, but the sentence was ragged, as was the jacket, covered in slashes and matching a trail of blood threading down his forehead. _

_Ignoring the tone Dean started a silent pat down instead, hands working over the slashes. After all, Jerry would not be pleased if his only son bled to death in his absence. Cal however was less than pleased, _

_"I said get _off_," he snapped, the shove firmer the second time around. _

_Dean stood with a shrug, rolling his eyes._

_"Fine," _

_Apparently he could add pissy to the list of Cal's traits along with ungrateful. He couldn't believe the guy had been stupid enough to use all his bullets on the first kill, nor could he believe that he'd not kept a mental note of the fact. _

_Yeah, Cal was a shitty hunter all right and watching him stagger to his feet, wincing and gasping was even more of a pitiful sight. Dean cocked a brow at him lazily,_

_"Sure you don't want a hand?"_

_"Back off!" it was a growl, a snap of disdain, mixed with panic and a severe loss of pride, "I don't need anything from you."_

"_Hey, just askin',"_

"_Well don't Winchester. Don't."_

* * *

Yeah I know, another flashback but I kind of like the way they break up the tension so you can expect at least one more!

Thanks for all the reviews as well, I'm glad everyone's enjoying it so far! We're just about/over halfway through so let's hope I don't screw it up between now and the end! Fingers crossed!


	12. Chapter 12

Which side of the fence does Cal really come down on? Well here's your answer!

* * *

**Chapter Twelve.**

"**One For The Road."**

He'd bought himself a whisky the second he'd entered the shabby little roadside bar, watching it slid along the counter-top towards him, the amber liquid sloshing away inside the glass. He'd ordered an orange juice as well – several actually, figuring he could work his way up – although what exactly bridged the gap between fruit juice and hard liquor was anyone's guess.

He'd tried hard not to think about Jess as the days had passed but it hadn't proved easy, not when he felt like he'd let her down by not visiting. Some boyfriend he was, too busy fighting monsters to make the time to lay some flowers at her grave, to be with her on the anniversary of the day she'd died. His reasons were no reasons at all and Dean's were even worse.

That of course, was another point to deal with. Dean. If it wasn't bad enough that he harboured some ridiculously long-standing and seemingly baseless grudge against Cal when the man was with them, making it into a case in his absence was just obsessive. Then there was Bobby's part in all of it as well, because he was sure that's what they'd been talking about. Dean's evasiveness left no other options open. So did that mean Bobby mistrusted Cal too? If so why? After all Bobby knew the hunting community better than almost anyone else within it and if he said someone was bad news then they generally were. The point was that either way Sam would have liked to have been told as opposed to having to piece it together in his depressed and possibly soon-to-be drunken state. Well, not drunk maybe, alcohol still didn't seem hugely appealing.

Regardless of his blood alcohol level however, the whole thing was starting to make him feel less and less certain about Cal. Not that it much mattered, the guy was states away after all. Shaking his head he sighed heavily, lifting his glass and working his way towards his first sip.

It was just tipping over the brim towards his lips when someone flopped heavily onto the seat beside him, the voice cheery, familiar and surprising,

"This a closed session or can anyone join in?"

Sam blinked, confusion overtaking pleasant surprise,

"Cal?"

The dark-haired hunter grinned back at him, clearly enjoying the unexpectedness of his arrival,

"One and the same,"

He was beaming broadly, hands patting the bar-top like he was pounding away on an imaginary drum kit. Catching the bartender's eye he raised a hand ordering himself some of the same. Sam was still sitting staring at him, trying to work out whether he'd dreamt the earlier departure – which he couldn't possibly have because then his argument with Dean wouldn't have been real either and that certainly felt like it had happened.

"Err?" he ventured hesitantly in the silence, watching the older hunter turn towards him expectantly, "Didn't you leave already?"

The question drew a wider grin,

"Yep, but hell, I guess I just couldn't stay away," seeing the look on Sam's face, he laughed suddenly, reaching up to clap his shoulder in a good-natured gesture, shaking his head at the bafflement he got in return, "No, come on, there's a bunch of bad weather setting in around my next hunt, apparently they're shutting all the roads and the traffic's grid locked. I figured it was probably best to bunk down here until it all blew over, at least that way I'll have you and Dean for company."

Although what Dean was going to think of that Sam didn't want to guess. Perhaps he needed that whisky after all, although as he dived headfirst into the glass with a sudden turn of zeal, Cal gave him a quizzical look,

"You okay there Sam?" he asked, "No more side effects from last night or anything?"

Sam shrugged, his answer silent and not entirely convincing. Cal seemed to see through in much the same way Dean had, surprising Sam with his perceptiveness,

"The nightmares, huh?" he asked before nodding, "Yep, they're the worst. Hey, where is Dean anyway?"

The change in topic was startling but the general question was not a good one, after all what was Sam meant to say, _Dean? Oh, he's off somewhere, trying to put you in the frame, don't worry about it._ Keeping it relatively simple was his best option and he waved a hand in response, trying to look airy with indifference,

"He's, uh, looking into something,"

"Another job?"

"Something like that,"

For a long while Cal just stared at him, not even flinching as the bartender put the drink down in front of him just taking in the younger hunter with a long appraising look. Finally however he shrugged, turning towards the bar and curling his fingers nonchalantly around the glass,

"It's okay Sam," he offered eventually, looking a little downcast, "I get it, I'm not family, I've got no right to pry into what you and Dean do. Forget it, I'm sorry I asked."

"What?" Sam's eyes widened on instinct, horrified that in trying to protect Cal's feelings he'd actually ended up hurting them, "No, Cal listen – ,"

"It's okay Sam, really."

Although it certainly didn't seem that way as Cal shrugged in an obvious attempt at nonchalance and continued to gaze at the beer-stained bar in front of them. He looked upset, visibly so and suddenly Sam was starkly reminded of what it was like to be alone, hell it had been hard enough losing their father and he'd at least had Dean as a source of – admittedly often haphazard – reassurance. All Cal wanted from them was a measure of friendship and he obviously thought he was being denied even that, shut out in an eternal reminder that he had nobody.

"Cal – ,"

"There's no bad weather Sam,"

It was an admission that caught him totally by surprise, the sentence seemingly so nonsensical that the reply came out as a single-syllable grunt,

"Huh?"

Cal was still looking downcast, unable to make eye contact as he continued miserably,

"At the salt and burn. The weather's fine."

Okay, Sam was lost. A frown creasing across his face as he struggled to keep up with the change in events.

"Then why – ,"

"Honestly?" Cal interrupted, heading-off the question and turning towards the younger hunter for the first time, surprising him with the emotion he saw flashing behind the eyes, "The truth is I just couldn't face being alone today, I needed a strong drink…" he paused awkwardly, "I needed a friend."

Sam nodded slowly, the explanation still seeming half-complete. Why did he need a friend? Luckily Cal managed to guess that one too.

"See, three years ago tonight I uh…" he stopped again, taking a deep breath and evidently steeling himself for what was to follow, "Lost someone. Someone close to me and since then I just…I just can't seem to handle being alone this time of year, which was fine when I had my dad but now…well…"

Now it made sense, only the sentence made Sam's heart skip a little, surprising him with its intensity.

"You, lost someone?" he ventured, desperate for clarification. Surely Cal hadn't gone through what he'd gone through too? But there he was, nodding,

"Yeah. Her name was Penny, I met her on a job. She uh…" he smiled absently, a grin quirking up his lips, "She thought I was a cosmetics salesman. I met her in a café, she was working her way through college."

Sam could feel his heart pounding against his ribcage, the story sending memories of Jessica around his head in waves, his sympathy for Cal growing by the minute. All year he'd been carrying around his loss, all year and whilst he wasn't the only one who'd gone through pain, he'd often felt that no one else had gone through _his_ kind of pain. Suddenly, there was someone who had. Cal however was too wrapped up in his own storytelling to notice the change,

"Man I'm telling you, she was beautiful. I'd never met anyone like her. My dad wasn't happy of course but I didn't care, we were in love and it was all that seemed to matter. Losing her was just about the hardest thing I've ever been through."

Sam paused, acutely aware that nothing he could say would help except maybe one thing and so he nodded and took the chance,

"I…I know how you feel."

Cal's gaze snapped towards him at once, full of surprise,

"You do?"

"Yeah," Continuing to nod Sam took another mouthful of the whisky, a bigger more determined gulp he hoped would quell the burning pain inside him.

"What was her name?"

It was harder to say than he'd imagined it would be, almost like he had to force it out over his lips,

"Jessica," he cleared his throat, his voice stronger the second time around, "Her name was Jess."

"Was she – was she killed by some hunt?"

"Yeah," That part came out through gritted teeth, the vision of her burning mingling with his hatred for the demon as he forced him to continue, "A year back."

"I'm so sorry Sam. I know how hard it must be."

"Thanks," and he meant it too, it had been a long time since someone had said something so simple to him and even longer since it had come from someone who knew that loss. The last one had probably been his father and evidently Cal was thinking along the same lines for he chuckled abruptly beside him, a short humourless laugh full of dry sarcasm,

"Wow, would you look at us?" he snorted derisively, "Both lost our dads, both lost the women that meant the most to us. Either my bad luck isn't as uncommon as I thought it was or we are just both on the receiving end of some really unfair crap,"

For a long while after Cal simply blinked as if thinking the options over himself before realising that there was no easy answer. Eventually however he raised his glass high, setting his face in determination and waiting until Sam turned his way,

"Well," he began somewhat softly, "Here's to Jess and Penny," he carried on when he felt the chink of Sam's glass on his, "God bless them wherever they are."

They both finished their measures in one mouthful, Sam fighting back the roll of his stomach. Okay, maybe a little too soon. It stayed down though, that was definitely something. Absently he wondered what Dean would think of the new turn of events, would he have any more sympathy for the lonely hunter if he'd been in audience? Probably not, but then again maybe he would have, after all Dean was many things but he had always been big enough to own up to his own mistakes – usually. It was a good quality.

Beside him Cal slid from the bar stool, stretching and letting out a long contented sigh,

"Hey Sam, I've got a bottle of Bourbon in the trunk of the car, I've been saving it for something special. I figure this just about covers it so how about we open it up, huh?"

Great, more alcohol, but the younger hunter wasn't about to turn down the opportunity to share his grief with someone who knew what it was like the lose the love of a lifetime due to the jobs they'd inherited as children, besides which when Dean arrived back Sam wanted to be the first one to break the news – particularly since seeing Cal's car would probably be more than enough to send his older brother into a murderous rage. Glancing back he nodded, letting out a long sigh of his own,

"Sure,"

Only maybe Cal could do the drinking for both of them. He definitely wasn't up to a full bender just yet.

Stretching his aching muscles Sam slid from his own bar stool, leading the way towards the door with a grateful nod at the bartender. As he did he missed Cal pick up an empty beer bottle abandoned at one of the tables and slip in into his jacket pocket, the smirk the older hunter was wearing also going unnoticed as he followed Sam out through the door and into the early afternoon sun.

It was going to be one hell of session all right. If only he'd known it.

* * *

So, okay. He's bad to the bone – to quote a lyric from Whitesnake! But why...well, that's still to come!


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen.**

"**Suspicious Circumstances."**

The guy he'd found at the desk had a limp – either from a hip operation pending or past – giving him a strange almost lop-sided gait as he plodded heavily down the corridor in front of Dean, puffing and groaning with every step and keeping a guiding hand braced against the wall in case it all became too much. Dean kept a few steps behind, unable to rip his eyes from the sweat patches darkening the back of the man's shirt up the curvature of his spine towards a hot pink neck straining against a collar too-small for the overall girth. The man was a mess but given that he worked with dead people it was hardly a surprise, not too many corpses were concerned with fashion, or standards of personal hygiene for that matter.

"So," the guy began in between gasping breaths that rattled a smoker's cough buried somewhere deep in the chest, threatening to deposit him right alongside his charges in the morgue. He half-turned his head as he spoke, revealing matching sweat trickles down the side of a chubby face, "What do the Feds want with the guy after all this time? You checking to see if he's still dead?"

The question drew a chuckle, descending into a full-blown hacking fit as the humour became too much, not seeming to notice Dean's expressionless response,

"Isn't that your job?"

He got a scornful glance in return, followed by a snort of derision,

"What do I look like to you, a doctor?"

Nope. Which was probably a good thing, nobody that wore their lunch down their front deserved to be practising medicine after all. Taking a deep breath Dean managed a half-smile and nodded in agreement, trying to appear all business through a building urge to throw his eyes skywards. Why could he never find normal people in morgues? They were always either creepy, looking for a bribe or else dark to the point of morbid. Fat and unhealthy was something of a new addition, but it wasn't exactly a more appealing option.

"The case just got transferred to our department," he offered instead, deciding to answer the first question thrown his way and slowing his step as the man swayed briefly and slowed to lean heavily against the wall, "We always conduct our own investigations regardless of what's been found before. It's standard procedure."

"So why you then?" the clerk asked, starting off again but still tottering far too slowly for Dean's liking. He was chuckling again too, the added intake of air stalling the process even further, "You lose a bet or something?"

Dean's responding smile was thin,

"Or something."

They passed through the flapping doors with a sigh of relief, the clerk staggering the last few steps towards the silver walls of doors and heading straight for one in the middle row, twisting the handle and flinging it wide open. The sound of metal scraping against the runners seemed ungodly loud in the windowless room, the sound bouncing off the stark walls and cold floor right back at them, the body-shaped bag doing little to lighten the mood as it slid out into the harsh lighting.

Stepping back the clerk let Dean take over, watching in semi-amusement as Dean took off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and donned a pair of gloves with more of a performance than he'd intended as his little finger dove into the same hole as another, leaving him grappling in decidedly un-FBI fashion before finally getting himself prepared enough to conduct an examination.

The sight of Jerry's Rudman's face as he slid back the zipper was still a shock no matter how he'd prepared himself mentally for the sight. He'd meant it when he'd commiserated with Cal over his father's death, Jerry had been a good guy, dedicated, smart and with a biting sense of humour. His ghostly pale and lifeless face told none of that, the grey hair and scraggly beard lying down across his bare shoulders, his face dotted with scratches, bright against the white. Dean frowned,

"How long before death did he get those?"

Behind him he vaguely registered the clerk shrug almost absently,

"Same time according to the doctor's best guess."

"Did he get them from the fall?"

"The _fall_?" the confusion that echoed back at him was enough to make Dean turn, taking in the knitted brows and clueless expression, "I don't remember the doctor saying anything about a fall."

Dean blinked, surprised, slowing his question down as he tried to clarify the situation, fast suspecting he was working with an idiot. Typical.

"The _fall_," he repeated again, "The fall that killed him?"

Abruptly the clerk snorted, his amusement seeming out of place in their surroundings,

"Well I don't know about a fall, but I'm pretty sure it was the slashes in his stomach that killed him."

Turning back Dean's heart began to pound, his hand reaching out and pulling the zipper down further. He hadn't died from a fall like Cal said he had? Well then what had killed him?

He got his answer almost as soon as he'd asked it, the pale skin of the torso revealing a sight that made his stomach lurch, both in recognition and horror at what had befallen the man. Four dark wide red gashes stared back at him, ploughing into the body, so deep that they almost sliced clean through. Dean could only imagine the state Jerry had been in when he'd first been brought in. At least they'd cleaned him up a bit. Still, there was a more pressing question that needed to be answered, why had Cal lied? A hunt had killed Jerry Rudman all right, but unless it was a ghost brandishing a rake then it certainly wasn't a spirit. It looked more like an animal, a werewolf maybe, which seemed pretty ironic since that was how they'd all met in the first place. Maybe they'd become specialists, although it still didn't explain why Cal had lied.

The clerk however didn't pick up on Dean's silent musings, suddenly snorting again although the noise seemed to hold a hint of pity in amongst the derision,

"Poor guy, whoever he is not even his family cared enough to come and give him a proper burial," he shook his head sadly, surprisingly sincere as he glanced up hopefully, "Hey, maybe if you guys find out what happened to him you can make sure he finds somewhere, huh?"

Dean nodded, the response instinctive,

"Yeah. I'll see what I can do,"

Because wasn't that just another quandary – why the hell hadn't Cal claimed his own father? What was Jerry Rudman doing lying in a morgue months after he'd died, all but forgotten? Was Cal hoping to resurrect him maybe? Although if he were he didn't seem to be doing a whole hell of a lot about it. Jerry deserved better, the guy had always deserved better.

"Where was he found?" Dean managed to ask in the silence, his voice sounding gruff,

"Outskirts of town I think, near the woods," the clerk shrugged in response, "Found by a dog walker,"

So he hadn't even fallen out of a building then. What the hell was Cal playing at?

Taking a deep breath Dean nodded, stepping back and allowing the clerk to move in and zip the bag back up. Dean was turning and heading for the doors even before the guy had finished sliding the tray back, his tone perturbed as he noticed his visitor leaving without him,

"Hey, you remember the way back?"

Dean didn't even turn around, he wanted out, he had things to be getting on with.

"Yeah."

The name 'Jerry Gonzalez' had been on the fifth page of search results, a small news article from some backwater town about a traveller who'd died in suspicious circumstances, the word 'suspicious' had been all Dean had needed to convince himself that the place was worth a visit. An officer at the small police station had directed him to the morgue, the FBI badge doing the majority of the work for him.

The town itself had only been a four hour drive away from the motel and Dean had figured he could make it there, find what he needed and get back in one day, meaning that Sam could stay and rest. No matter what he'd said almost being drowned had certainly succeeded in screwing with his younger brother's already fragile mental state, as if the anniversary of Jessica's death hadn't already been enough. He'd heard him waking up throughout the night, seemingly not having had such nightmares since he'd stopped dreaming of the fire. No, with Cal gone off on his next hunt it had been the perfect opportunity to force Sam into resting, whether or not he'd taken the advice however was another matter.

Probably not.

The sun hit Dean like a hot hand, cupping his face with its glow and taking away the oppressive chill of the morgue. Quickly he tapped in Sam's number, waiting as it rang continuously.

"Come on," he muttered softly, pacing across the parking lot towards his car and only stopping as the ringing cut out on him. Sam had cancelled the call, which meant he was either pissed or doing what he was supposed to be doing and trying to sleep. Maybe it was both both. Silently Dean rolled his eyes, "Fine."

He dialled Bobby's number just as quickly, clamping the cell between his shoulder and his chin as he scrabbled about in a pocket for his keys. Unlike Sam the older hunter decided to answer,

"Yeah."

"It's me,"

"What d'ya find?"

"Jerry Rudman,"

Pulling open the car door with a familiar creak of hinges, Dean lowered himself down onto the seat, leaving his legs hanging out as he savoured the crisp breeze mixed in with the sunshine. He'd always liked this kind of weather the best, warm in the light, but cool enough to go chasing things without working up too much of a sweat. Less washing that way too.

"And?"

"Well," inserting the keys and sitting back with a sigh Dean shrugged, semi-clueless, "He definitely didn't fall out of a window. He was mauled."

"_Mauled_?"

"Yep. Clean through."

"What by? Werewolf?"

Bobby did that, that half-psychic thing borne of years worth of experience, certain words, locations and people all combining together in his head to create likely scenarios without even being told the full facts. Dean smiled wryly,

"Looks kind of like it. Hear anything about werewolves down this way about six months back?"

"Nope, but that doesn't mean there weren't any. So why in the hell did Cal lie about the death?"

"I don't know and why's he letting his father sit in some morgue? It doesn't make any sense Bobby,"

Across the line Bobby sighed heavily and Dean could hear books moving about across the desk in Bobby's library. He was researching,

"You spoken to Sam about this yet?" he asked in the silence, making Dean roll his eyes,

"No. I just phoned him, he didn't answer. Probably asleep."

"I'll try him in a minute, been meaning to phone the kid anyway, given…well, what's just passed."

He'd remembered the date of Jess' death. That was pretty impressive.

"Yeah, thanks Bobby."

Another silence prevailed between them, Bobby still flicking pages on his end and his brain obviously starting to work away at the puzzle,

"Even if it was a werewolf," he mumbled eventually, thinking out loud more than conversing, going through his mental process across the line, "Jerry was an experienced hunter. I've seen him take on two of the things without breaking a sweat, why did this one get the better of him? Especially if Cal was there with him?"

Dean sighed heavily, letting a hand hang off the steering wheel. It was a good question,

"I don't know," he offered helplessly, "Although Cal's hardly the best person to have backing you up. Let me know if you think of anything. I'm going to head back."

"All right,"

He hung up with a sigh, sitting back against the seat and letting a frown crease across his brow. Something about the whole situation wasn't right, the only probably was that speculation was no answer at all, although the lies would at least be enough to convince Sam that Cal was bad news and spare them anymore shared hunting trips. That was something. Swinging his legs into the car Dean slammed shut the door and fired the engine into life.

Suddenly he was more glad than ever that Cal was long gone.

* * *

...or not! Poor Dean.

So, any more theories on Cal? (Just curious - well, wondering if I've been rumbled by everyone yet actually!)


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen.**

"**Keep Your Friends Close…"**

Apparently Sam could no longer drink any amount of alcohol, or at least that's what his body was telling him as he slumped coughing over the toilet bowl for the second time in a week cursing both the discovery of whisky and his own fruitless attempts at drinking away his troubles.

His biggest mistake – apart from leaving Jessica alone that day. _No, don't go there, things are already bad enough_ – had probably been agreeing to Cal's offer of vintage bourbon in the first place, then letting him fill the glasses full to almost overflowing as they'd sat lazily in his and Dean's motel room, awkwardly toasting their combined losses. It had been anything but cheery and forty minutes and a half a glass later Sam had taken to the bathroom, all but abandoning Cal to his own devices.

Taking a deep breath Sam stood on wobbly legs, stumbling towards the basin and bending over it, twisting on the tap and letting cool water run across his wrists with a bite that was icy enough to hurt. It felt good though and leaning in closer he splashed it up at his face before washing out his mouth and reaching for one of the towels to dab himself dry again. The least he could do was look semi-presentable for Cal after so hastily having deserted him. Some drinking partner he was turning out to be, although he couldn't really blame his poor liver for reacting the way it did, he'd always been a light-weight, never having had enough drinking sessions to develop a taste for it unlike Dean who could down the stuff like water and walk away unscathed.

When he finally swung open the bathroom door Cal was where he'd left him, reclining casually across the foot of Dean's bed, glass still in hand and a expectant yet sympathetic expression playing across his face,

"You okay?" he asked, taking another sip as if to rub things in and chuckling gently. Sam groaned in response, crossing to his own bed and sitting down heavily, instantly wishing he hadn't as it sent his head spinning in protest.

"Uh."

Cal's grin widened in amusement,

"I take it that's a no," he offered mildly before leaning across towards the mini bar and pulling out a small bottle of water. He tossed it towards the younger man with a flick of his wrist, fully anticipating the next sentence, "Don't worry, I'll leave some money for it in case Dean gets bent out of shape, it is kind of my fault you need it anyway."

He smiled again and Sam nodded in weary gratitude, twisting off the top and savouring the feel of cool, clean liquid sliding down his raw throat. He could have drained the entire thing easily, but given the fact his stomach was still swirling dangerously he stopped himself, not fancying a repeat trip back to the bathroom and sighing instead,

"Thanks,"

"Sure," Cal shrugged before levering himself off the bed with a creak of springs and a groan, "Hey, gotta take a leak, you going to be okay?"

Meaning, _are you going to need to run back in there any time soon?_ Sam shook his head no and mustered what he guessed was a confident smile. He _hoped_ he wasn't going to need to anyway, that was just going to have to do. Cal took it all the same, nodding with a _hope you're right_ sort of shrug and shutting the door behind him.

Sam's cell phone began to ring the moment he did, making him almost jump as the noise pierced the silence. It was lying on the table by the door and the first thing Sam noticed as he got to it was that he'd managed to miss a call from Dean not two minutes before. He frowned absently as he answered, wondering why Cal had mentioned it to him, or at least let him know. Either would have been nice.

"Yeah?"

"Sam."

He knew who it was instantly, the single gruff syllable as good as a full introduction, expressing both greeting and warmth in one fell swoop and making him smile in genuine pleasure.

"Hey Bobby,"

The fact he needed no other form of identification obviously had the same effect across the line, the older hunter's voice softening at once into something akin to fondness,

"How you doing kid? Dean just tried you, said he thought you were sleeping."

Sam snorted wryly in response, moving a hand to scratch awkwardly at the back of his head.

"Yeah," he offered vaguely, "Something like that."

"He's heading back now,"

Which meant that he was going to have to think of some reason for Cal to leave without letting on why, as if the guy wasn't depressed enough already without the thought of Dean launching into him the second he got through the door. Sam nodded, wiping a weary hand across his face,

"He find what he wanted?"

Suddenly it was Bobby's turn to snort, his tone moving swiftly back to the angry clipped quality he usually saved for when life was really conspiring to piss him off.

"Oh he found something all right and believe me that boy has got a lot of talking to do,"

"Who?" Sam asked cluelessly, a frown sliding across his face, "Dean?"

"No, Cal."

"Ca – ," his outburst stopped mid-repetition, Sam cutting himself off and turning towards the still-closed door cautiously. When he spoke again his voice was quieter, "You mean _Cal_? Cal Rudman?"

"Damn straight Cal Rudman. That little – ,"

As Bobby's tirade continued, Sam's ears began to whistle, rendering the voice fuzzy. He wasn't exactly in the best of states to be listening to one of the older hunter's curse-laden rampages, although the topic intrigued him no end. What the hell had Dean found? What had he set out to find for that matter? Sighing heavily he flopped down into one of the little chairs, knocking into the table as he did and accidentally jerking the computer back into life. What stared back at him made him blink and then frown, the laptop's recent internet history sitting open on the screen – certainly not something he had done and not something he was sure that Dean even knew _how_ to do, which only left one other option…

"Bobby?" Interrupting with practised ease Sam cleared his throat, trying to keep the flicker of confusion out of his voice, "What exactly did Dean find?"

The answer was a further surprise.

"Found? He found Jerry Rudman that's what?"

"Alive?"

"Not unless morgues are operating as motels these days."

"He's in a morgue?"

"Yep," Bobby answered, his voice tense with anger, "And there's only one person who knows how he got there."

Sam blinked, his suspicions suddenly starting to grow. Cal. So Dean had been right after all. _Damn_.

As the bathroom door twisted open Sam spun towards it, his voice suddenly quick but managing to keep it just calm enough so as not to worry Bobby, the last thing he needed was to give the game away to Cal.

"Err, right, thanks Bobby. I've got to go, I was…just running a bath."

The reply was laced with a hint of sudden amusement,

"A bath?"

"Yeah."

"Lit yourself some candles too did you? Threw in some bubble bath?"

Sam's response was deadpan,

"Yeah. Thanks for calling in Bobby,"

"Anytime kid."

Snapping the cell shut Sam looked up to find Cal peering across at him with narrow-eyed suspicion that moments before he might have mistaken for curiosity. He smiled back at him casually, keen to maintain the façade as he sighed and put the phone back down,

"That was Bobby, he…likes to check up on us,"

Cal's response seemed icy,

"How nice."

Sam decided to ignore it, instead collecting their glasses and twisting the top off the bourbon again as he went for a refill. Getting Cal drunk seemed to be a pretty good plan, that way at least he'd still be there when Dean got back with whatever news he did have.

"He's a good guy,"

"Sounds like it," he could tell Cal was watching him cautiously, keeping his distance and obviously, despite Sam's best intentions, reading the shift in body language, "You think a top-up's really the best idea?"

Passing him across his own re-filled glass Sam shrugged, going for nonchalant and realising belatedly that when it came to such appearances Dean was undoubtedly the master.

"Always worked for my dad."

Suddenly Cal was grinning, the suspicion fading away in a change that made Sam heave an internal sigh of relief,

"Yeah," he chuckled, tipping the glass towards his lips, "Mine too."

Quickly Sam spun, making out like he was walking across the room but in reality simply acting out the process of throwing his drink back, he'd given himself a lot less than Cal, figuring that he could tip it into the trash when the other man wasn't looking, or at least cup it in his hands or mask the glass behind something.

He didn't even get that far. Before he'd even made it halfway across the room something suddenly collided hard with the back of his head sending stars bursting in his eyes and accompanied by the faint sound of smashing glass and a hail of small sharp fragments before his eyes.

As the pain exploded over the back of his skull he folded helplessly onto his knees, watching through only vaguely aware eyes as the whisky tumbler bounced across the carpet before him spilling amber liquid in a trail of droplets. A boot stepped into view as he toppled forwards, his body landing heavily on the hard floor and driving the wind from his lungs.

The blackness overtook him like a cloud, filtering down past his senses and his motor skills, shutting off his awareness, vision and hearing one by one. Just before he succumbed totally to the darkness however a chuckling voice sounded from somewhere up above his ears, the voice buzzing and flickering as he slipped further under,

"Forgot to switch your little computer back to screensaver, huh Sammy? Big mistake kid. Big mistake."

Cal knew he'd been rumbled and what was more he also knew whatever it was Dean had gone after in the first place. Something that had evidently made him none-too-happy, which meant only one last thing to Sam before unconsciousness took over completely...

…He was in serious trouble and nobody but he knew it.

* * *

And just in case anybody was still in any doubt – Cal's definitely the bad guy!


	15. Chapter 15

Okay so I lied, maybe there's one more flashback after this one but that's it I promise!

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen.**

"**When Dean First Met Cal – Part Five."**

"_Dean?" John's voice echoed out loudly across the clearing, accompanied by the crash of foliage being trampled underfoot and a sharpness of tone that doubled as a demand for an answer, "Dean!"_

"_Dad," taking a few steps back from Cal, Dean turned in the direction of the voice, glad to hear it._

_It was a direction more than a response and it was followed by a further crash of brush and the appearance of a familiar face, creased in worry and casting around rapidly. The tension faded as eyes fell on Dean, widening again as they belatedly took in the two bloody bodies lying in the dirt,_

"_You all right?" he asked, taking in the blood-speckled jacket and weary expression. Dean merely nodded in response as behind them Cal staggered to his feet, a hand cradling his arm and the whole limb covering his chest protectively with his shoulders raised against any unwanted intrusion. He was positively glowering, daring them to ask. _

_John blinked instead, _

"_What happened?"_

"_Long story," Dean sighed back._

"_Cal?" they were interrupted by another voice, breathless and concerned as more leaves parted under heavy tread. _

_Jerry Rudman burst out of the woodland to their side, his whole face a portrait of alarm. He completed a visual assessment of his son within a fraction of a second, knowing and caring nothing beyond the fact that he was hurt,_

"_Cal? What happened boy?"_

_For a moment neither Dean nor Cal said a word, the silent exchange all Cal needed to know. Dean was saying nothing about his treatment of their hunt, appalled though he might have been, the eldest Winchester boy was no snitch either. _

_Unfortunately for both of them however, their father's – with years of experience when it came to their sons – read the unease at once. Jerry's eyes narrowed quickly, taking in the slight slump to Cal's shoulders and the fiery gaze burning in Dean's eyes. Whatever had happened, he knew who the culprit was._

"_Cal?" he pressed again and in that instant as the young hunter's eyes lifted towards his father's they all knew he couldn't lie._

"_I – ," stumbling slightly he hesitated, trying to think of the best way to word the explanation, "I used all my bullets on the first werewolf dad, I – I'm sorry."_

_For a second Jerry just blinked, trying to take in the sentence and put it into context._

_It didn't take long._

"_You mean you were all out when the second one came at you?" A despondent nod was his only response and suddenly the anger in air the was palpable, "Why of all the damned stupid things to do! How many times have I told you? How many times – ,"_

"_Dad," _

_Cal looked miserable, which was no less than he deserved, but he did not appreciate the Winchester audience, nor was Dean's smirk helping any. Jerry however seemed to think differently, because in the same moment that Cal was cursing the other hunters his father was thanking them,_

"_Dean," he began, stepping towards the other boy and grabbing up his hand in a heart-felt shake, "I don't know what to say boy. Me and Cal owe you one hell of a debt." _

"_No problem," Dean shrugged, feigning awkwardness but reserving a narrow-eyed glare for Cal. _

You should have listened to them in the first place.

"_You're a hell of a hunter kid. You do your old man proud…I only wish my boy was more like you."_

_It was the knife that cut through Cal's heart. _


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen.**

"…**And Your Enemies Closer."**

By the time Dean arrived back at the motel the sun was starting to dip behind the tree line, casting bright low orange light across the surroundings, a last fiery glow of defiance before the night slunk in again and painted everything black.

Their room was in darkness, their side of the building already dipped into the rapidly approaching shadow of the evening and sending an involuntary shiver across Dean's shoulder as he opened the door, a gust of chill wind sweeping in around him. It was going to be a cold winter for folks in these parts and suddenly the benefits of living out of the Impala seemed to outweigh the negatives.

Crossing the threshold with a creak of the door and the rustle of the bag of fast food he'd stopped off to get on the way back, Dean wrenched the key free and stepped into the gloom, just making out the bulky human-shaped form lying balled under the covers of one of the beds.

So, Sam had got himself some sleep then. Good, it was about time.

Putting the key and the bag down onto the table and pushing shut the door with one foot, Dean crossed the room quietly, keeping his voice low,

"Sam? Hey, Sammy,"

Leaning over Dean reached out a hand to shake the sleeping form gently, surprised when his fingers pressed into the bulk and kept going, sinking through layers of quilt and seemingly not much else. He flipped on the bedside light quickly, ripping back the covers and finding only a ball of pillows in the place he'd expected his tall, scruffy-headed brother to be.

"What the – ,"

"Dean," the voice that sounded behind him was so smooth that for a moment it seemed out of place, the sudden interruption startling him as he spun around into the room. Cal stared back at him, "For a moment I was beginning to think you weren't coming."

"Where's Sam?"

It was a growl that did not care for idle chat.

"Sam?" Came the reply, accompanied by a long look about the room and finally a nonchalant shrug, "He's around."

"_Where_?"

"Well now, that would be for me to know. Wouldn't it?"

His eerie sense of calm didn't serve to help Dean's mood any, his whole body tensed for a fight, his fists balled by his sides. He could have kicked himself. He'd known Cal was bad news from the start and yet he'd still managed to underestimate him, convinced himself that a warning was all it would take and now there he was, standing before him where his little brother should have been. _Damn_.

He barely wanted to ask the next question, the unintentional hitch in his voice giving away the fear he felt and his rapid breathing a sign of his fast-beating heart,

"What did you do to him?"

Cal's eyes sparkled in return, the same sickening glint Dean recognised from years back lighting anew within them,

"Nothing. Yet," he shrugged, "Except maybe the hangover and a nasty concussion."

The shattered glass on the floor and the discarded and half-empty whisky tumbler seemed to confirm his story, a blood spot on the carpet making Dean's stomach lurch in horror. Abruptly he took a step towards Cal, his eyes glowering contempt and his entire body language murderous,

"You bastard – ,"

"Careful Dean," the response was still calm although there was a hint of grim satisfaction in seeing him shuffle back a pace, the narrow-eyed composure slipping just a fraction, "I'm still the only one who knows where he is, remember? If anything happens to me, you never find Sammy."

He was proud of himself, that much was clear and suddenly aware that the gruff exchange was doing anything but helping his brother, Dean clenched his teeth and forced out the sentence he knew the other hunter was waiting to hear. It almost killed him to say it.

"What do you want Cal?"

"You."

Dean blinked, for a second caught unaware by the surprisingly simplistic seeming request.

"What?"

"I want you Dean," Cal offered again in the suspended silence, cocking his head to one side slightly. The sentence earned him a derisive snort, followed by a wry smile,

"Yeah well, I know you've been alone a while but I don't swing that way, sorry."

"Funny," Cal retorted, still unnaturally calm considering the circumstances. He was standing before the slated window, strips of light running horizontally across his clothing and lighting up only tiny slivers of his face. From what Dean could see he was smirking, "You always were funny. My dad liked that, cutthroat humour he called it."

"Speaking of your dad," Dean cut in, sensing his opportunity, "Want to tell me why he's sitting in some morgue? Or how about the way he died – what was it? Falling out of a window?"

If Cal was bothered by the questions however he didn't show it, instead quirking something akin to a smile,

"So, you found dad, huh? How is he?"

"Cold."

"Yeah, happens."

Holy crap what was wrong with the guy? As if the whole murdering-torturous side of him hadn't been bad enough already, suddenly they could add unhinged to the list as well. Dean kept his gaze steady,

"What really killed him Cal?"

"You know what killed him. I did."

It was a chilling response, especially given the fact that Sam was still M.I.A and the only person who knew if he was safe, hurt or otherwise was the emotionless mass of psychosis standing before him locked in a strange half-conversation.

"Come on Dean," suddenly however Cal moved, only a twitch at first but followed by an apparent mellowing as he turned and crossed towards the table, sliding himself calmly into a chair and snorting in evident amusement at something, "What did you expect me to do? I mean, you heard the way he talked to me back on that hunt. He treated me like a child, like an _idiot_," Dean bit his tongue hard, watching as a fleeting shrug followed the admission, "Well, now he knows I'm not. I'm not like you even though he always wanted me to be, I'm not anything like you – ,"

Dean wasn't about to argue that one.

" – I'm better and I'm going to prove it."

He grinned as he said it, as though somewhere inside his strange addled little brain he really believed it, as if everything he'd done was vindicated by the knowledge. Dean ground his teeth together in frustration, he didn't have time for the mental detour.

"What's this got to do with Sam?" he growled again, demanding an answer. Cal blinked at him, for the first time seeming surprised,

"Sam?"

"Yeah," Dean replied tersely, "Sam. Want me to show you a picture?"

Cal shook his head, continuing to seem baffled,

"This hasn't got anything to do with him. I like Sam, he's a good kid."

"Then where the hell _is_ he?" Dean snapped, frustrated by the fact that they seemed to be going in circles. Was a straight answer too much to ask for?

"It doesn't matter,"

"Listen to me you son of a - !"

He was stamping towards Cal again, his feet moving on instinct as his urge took over. He was leading with his fists, his brain already running through the showdown punch by punch. He wasn't even going to stop to let Cal breathe, he just wanted to bloody him. The click of a gun however stopped him in his tracks, realising belatedly through the red mist of anger that the other hunter had picked up one of their shotguns, pointing the barrel directly at Dean's chest, expression still surreally calm although that familiarly cold bloodlust was flickering through his eyes again. _Damn it_.

"I think I'll take Sammy with me," Cal continued eventually, as if thinking it through himself, "You know, we can hunt together, we'd be a good team."

"Sam won't hunt with you," Dean spat back, trying to formulate a plan of action as he watched Cal's attention waver between anger at the accusal and some mental fantasy-world he was clearly trying to immerse himself in.

"Why not?"

"You killed your _own_ father,"

A flicker of anger,

"He deserved it! Besides, Sammy didn't get on with your father either, he knows what it's like to be hated by those who should love you the most."

Dean stared back at him in disgust, not even seeing the point in responding. _Sam_ – it made his skin crawl to hear Cal calling him Sammy – had no idea what that was like, he may have doubted their father once or twice but he damn sure knew that John Winchester had loved him, loved him fiercely. Besides, Sam had always had one thing that Cal had not, an older brother. Dean had slacked on a lot of things in his lifetime but care for Sam was not one of them. They might never have said it, but if there was one thing in life Sam knew, had always know, it was that Dean could and would never hate him. Cal didn't need to know that however, he had no right too, nor was he in any frame of mind to understand it. Words would just be wasted on him, god only knew Dean felt like he'd wasted enough of them on the other man already. Instead he settled for something that better encapsulated what he was feeling,

"You're one crazy bastard,"

Cal looked up at him suddenly, the friendly smile slipping back across his face unexpectedly as he waggled the gun and made clicking noises with his tongue,

"Am I? After all, I've got this far haven't I? I got you here, I got Sammy on side…I think I've done pretty well."

"Yeah well I doubt Sam's on your side anymore,"

"Maybe not. But hey, I'm making it up as I go here. I was just going to let that vetala kill you until I realised you were hunting with Sammy these days. That made things more difficult," Cal shrugged absently, "That's when I had to switch to Plan B."

Dean blinked, realisation falling into place,

"So you did move the weapons,"

Another shrug, almost bashful in appearance,

"Guilty."

"And the water hag?"

"Killed her weeks before we got there, not that you or Sammy were to know of course. Sam did real good on that one, bought it hook line and sinker…no pun intended."

Dean twitched involuntarily, a ripple of anger flashing across his face.

"He could have drowned!"

"But he didn't. I saved him," letting out a long sigh as if bored by the conversation Cal let the shotgun rest across his knee, his head still cocked in Dean's direction, "I told you, we'll make a good team. He can count on me."

"Yeah I'll bet," Dean shot back sarcastically, watching as Cal again heaved an irritatingly cool shrug,

"He'll agree in the end, he won't have a choice."

"Meaning?"

"Let's just say I'll turn him around," Cal grinned, the expression unsettling. Dean swallowed, fighting back the urge to launch clean across the room at him, reminding himself that getting blown away was not going to help Sam. Instead he growled, eyes blazing his determination,

"Over my dead body."

"All right then," Cal nodded, tone about as casual as he'd heard it, "See ya round Dean."

The gunshot caught him by surprise, the sound exploding around the room and through his ears like a bomb blast, the impact catching him dead centre across the chest, driving the air clean out of him, colliding with his ribcage in the unmistakable crack of bone and erupting in a wave of pain. Blackness followed a split second later and then mercifully Dean knew no more.

* * *

*Whistles nonchalantly* soooo, what do you think? Initially I was going to do the big reveal of motives etc in this chapter, but I'm holding back on that until the next…just a little longer folks, bear with it!


	17. Chapter 17

Please forgive any mistakes in this one - have tried to read it through but my back is killing me and my desk chair is not helping so I've probably missed something glaring! (Although I have learnt that apparently there's more than one way to spell bandana...who knew?!)

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen.**

"**Then There Were Two."**

The ground underneath Sam was cold; cold and wet, the damp starting to soak in through his jeans as he sat amidst the mud and mulch and tried to combat the effects of his concussion.

His skull was pounding, a constant thumping that rang in his ears, made the veins pulse beneath his skin and pitched his head into a gentle backwards and forwards rock with each rhythmic thud, like he was swaying in the wind. Not that he could do much else of course, not with his arms wrenched backwards and tied around the tree he'd woken to find himself leant up against, the scratchy and uneven bark starting to grate at his skin through the thin shirt he was wearing, as if the bitterly cold and worsening weather hadn't been doing a good enough job of that already. His fingers were freezing, to the point where he could barely feel them and although it was November he suspected the tight ropes were doing their fair share too. Nor was the nausea helping any either, sitting in his throat like an ever-present threat – though whether a side effect of the hangover, the concussion or the knotted bandana shoved in his mouth he couldn't tell. In short, he felt terrible.

He'd awoken not long before, prodded back into consciousness by the enormous strain his slumped position was having on his shoulder muscles, working overtime and finally able to take it no longer. He'd managed to shift into a halfway bearable position since but it was by no means comfy.

Then of course there was the whole Cal-thing to think about, albeit gently – he couldn't cope with much else. Was Cal just going to leave him and let hypothermia do the work, or was there another plan? Although he certainly hoped not because anything else would surely have to involve Dean and the thought of anything happening to his brother was something else that sent his stomach rolling. After all it was largely his fault. He was the one who'd befriended Cal, he was the one who'd let himself get suckered in, hell, he'd even felt _sorry_ for him. Some judge of character he was.

"Hey Sammy, how've you been?"

The voice made him jump, jerking his stiff and spasm-filled limbs with an intensity that made him wince. Glancing up he watched as Cal strode calmly into the little clearing, mentally kicking himself that he'd not even heard the other man's approach through the high-pitched whistling in his ears. He hated feeling so helpless and yet ever since he'd met Cal it seemed to have been happening with alarming frequency both to himself and Dean, although that wasn't exactly a mystery any more. Unable to respond however, he simply settled for a glare listening as Cal chuckled,

"Not so good, huh?" he asked, squatting down in front of him and managing to look vaguely sympathetic, "Well don't worry. Not long to go now."

Which was hardly the most comforting thing he could have said, not that Cal seemed to notice as he stood and turned away, folding arms across his chest and staring up at the gathering dusk with a sigh,

"I saw Dean by the way," he offered in an off-hand fashion, feeling Sam's eyes on his back as the younger hunter jerked his head up in sudden alarm. _Dean? _"He's dead you know."

It was a sentence that hit Sam straight in the gut, like a blow. His blood ran cold sending an instant shiver through his body, one that worked its way outwards into a physical shudder. _No_. Eyes widened in horror, disbelief only tempering the sickness threatening to rise into his throat. _No_. Sensing the reaction Cal turned back, casting down with expressionless eyes,

"Don't look at me like that, I had to do it Sammy."

_Sam_. He wanted to shout back. _Sam_. Only Dean called him Sammy, in Cal's mouth it seemed wrong, like a slur. He felt sick.

"But it was quick, a clean shot. He didn't suffer."

He'd shot him? What with? Oh God, the guns. Sam hadn't even thought about the guns he'd been that intent on drinking himself into oblivion – before his liver had started to protest that was. But dead? Dean couldn't be dead it just…it wasn't possible. But either way Cal certainly seemed to believe it,

"I wanted to make him pay you see? For what happened in the woods that day. For all those years my dad made me feel inadequate, for all the times I wasn't Dean Winchester – ,"

_That wasn't Dean's fault!_Sam wanted to scream, hampered by the bandana and by his own heaving chest. He was close to hyperventilating, still struggling with the idea that – _no_. _Dean was not dead._

" – but I did it quick in the end, for you Sammy. So you wouldn't resent me."

Resent him? The man was insane, resent him? Sam didn't resent him, he wanted to kill him. Kill him with his bare hands. He couldn't do that however, could barely even feel his hands so instead he did the next best thing, he kicked out. Launching his legs towards the object of his hatred and enjoying the relish of contact as the sole of his boots crashed into Cal's shins, sending him into a backwards stagger and eliciting a sharp curse, part hiss part yelp.

"Damn it! _Sam_!" he sounded annoyed, almost like a child complaining to a teacher about unfair treatment, suddenly however the pain was replaced by ferocity, a dark fiery glint sliding dangerously into the eyes and the mouth turning up in a smirk, "Fine," he snapped abruptly, "I tried Sam, believe me I did but if you want to do it this way then fine. In a couple of months you'll be _begging_ for my help. Trust me, you'll come to me and I'll help you. Because that's the type of guy I am."

Sam stared back defiantly, not having the faintest clue what the other hunter was on about but caring even less. All he wanted to do was inflict pain on the man who had hurt his brother, no, _thought _about, even _mentioned_ hurting his brother. What happened to him in return was not important. Cal however, was still going,

"I know what it's like Sam, to see that disappointment on your father's face, I know you do too. But I'll never do that to you, not like my old man did," suddenly he was balling his hands up into fists, grabbing up his jacket and twisting it as if he were subconsciously strangling an imaginary figure, "He got what was coming all right – ,"

And then he stopped, registering the wide-eyed look on Sam's face and knowing that he'd revealed too much. Before him Sam blinked, shock fast replacing the horror. He'd killed his father. Cal had killed his own father.

His expression drew a sneer,

"Yeah, like you never thought about it either Sammy,"

Sam frowned in a mixture of disgust and displeasure. Sure, he and John Winchester hadn't always seen eye to eye, but never, not once had Sam wished him dead. Never. Obviously Cal wasn't buying it,

"You can lie to yourself kid but you can't lie to me. I _know_."

Sam's expression said it all, his narrow eyed stare saying what his mouth couldn't. _You know nothing_. Cal was laughing again, the sudden erratic change in his character startling Sam all over again,

"Remember Penny?" he asked quickly, almost absently. Sam continued to stare, something Cal evidently took as a 'yes,' "She was a great girl, funny, pretty, everything I said she was, just like your Jess," he paused briefly, heaving a sigh before cocking his head to one side, as if caught up in long-lost memories, "It was so hard having to kill her, but she left me no choice."

_What?_

For a second the breath caught in Sam's throat and he froze dead. Cal had killed Penny? The Penny that just hours before he'd been apparently mourning? He'd been sharing drinks and comparing his loss of Jess with a man who'd killed the so-called love of his life?

Cal seemed to interpret the silent assessment, suddenly seeming keen to clear his name,

"She was going to tell!" he hissed, stepping forward with his hands out, as if in appeal, "I couldn't let her. I just couldn't, you understand Sam or, at least you will."

Then almost as quickly his mood changed again and he spun his back towards the younger hunter and stepped away, arms stretched out on either side and his head tipped up towards the nearly dark sky. He breathed in deeply,

"Do you smell that Sam? Do you feel it?"

All Sam felt was uncomfortable; uncomfortable and panicky. He needed to be with Dean, he needed to find Dean, to establish that his brother was fine and knowing every second that he didn't appear to save the day was another second in which Cal might actually have been telling the truth, that he really had…

Sam stopped abruptly, the thought making his insides flip over, an image of Dean lying dead, alone and bloody somewhere sitting in front of his eyes and refusing to leave him alone. One thing was for sure, if Dean was hurt Cal was as good as dead and if Dean happened to find them first, then the same was also true. Either way, Cal's chances were not good.

A loopy burst of laughter stopped Sam dead once more, stopping him as he twisted his wrists against the bindings and drawing his attention up towards where Cal still stood. His vision was tipped skywards and in particular to a glow of light emanating out from behind a distant burst of cloud. The night was radiating across the surroundings in waves, giving in to the blackness and turning Cal practically wild with excitement.

"You know what me and Dean were hunting on that job of ours back in the day?" he asked suddenly, chuckling as he finished, a deep, husky laugh that was wild enough to be more than a little unsettling. Sam blinked, intrigued despite himself, "You know what it was that attacked me? You know what your brother thought he'd saved me from? Huh?"

Sam didn't know, wasn't sure he wanted to either although somewhere an inkling of an idea came to him, only to be discounted almost as quickly. _No way…_

Beyond him Cal was still rambling, his voice quickening as the clouds began to part, as darkness seeped into every corner and chased away the last of the light,

"You know why my father used to keep me locked up? Kept me away from people? Looked at me with that disappointment, that expression that told me everyday how much I'd failed him?"

Abruptly the moon shone out above them, a brilliant glow encapsulated in a perfect circle. Sam tensed suddenly, his worst fears confirmed.

_Crap_.

As Cal dropped onto his knees, hands clutching at his head he chanced a look backwards, pupils narrowing to feral points, his voice changing as his body began to shake,

"Don't worry Sammy. You and me are going to have so much fun together."

And suddenly Sam knew what all the cryptic messages had been about, what all the rambling had alluded to and more importantly, what Cal was.

Straining against the ropes, Sam tried hopelessly to break free, one name being screamed in his head as he fought what was happening and one person in his mind as he faced impossible odds. But Dean didn't appear and for the first time Sam found himself thinking the worst.

Maybe Cal had been telling the truth after all. Maybe Dean really was…_no_.

It was a conviction he had to hold onto.

* * *

So, yeah, ummm…for anyone that didn't guess – Cal's a werewolf!

Surprise!

(Or maybe not, I swear some of you are too quick for me!)


	18. Chapter 18

Okay, so there's _one_ more flashback! I know, I know, cruel to put it here when there's so much other stuff going on but, well, I am cruel, so here it is anyway!

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen.**

"**When Dean First Met Cal – Part Six."**

_It was a couple of hours later that Dean next laid eyes on Jerry, meeting him under the blindingly sharp glow of the exterior motel lights as Jerry trudged towards the reception. _

_He had his head down low, his stride so quick that he almost collided with the younger hunter, stopping with a shuffle of feet and looking up with angry eyes that only softened slightly as he saw who it was,_

"_Dean," he mumbled gruffly, "Did see you there son,"_

"_Don't worry about it."_

_Dean shrugged, his response as casual as he felt, slipping into full relaxation mode with the knowledge of another hunt completed, even if it had been something of a disaster – which reminded him._

"_How's Cal?"_

_Instantly the older hunter's face clouded over, and for a second Dean was so taken aback that he didn't speak. Jerry was obviously even more angry with his son than any of them had thought. Just as well he didn't know about the whole torturing thing then._

"Why?" he asked sharply, "You think he was hurt?"

_Dean blinked,_

"_I know he was, that werewolf landed right on him, got his arm I think,"_

"_Got his arm?" Jerry repeated quickly. _

_Dean nodded, confused by the strange turn in the conversation,_

"_Yeah, caught it, you know? Cal was holding it when he got up."_

"_Right," Abruptly the older man was nodding, his expression softening again, "Well, Cal's just fine."_

"_Okay," Dean nodded back, at a loss to do anything else, "Good."_

_Turning to go he was suddenly stopped by the sound of Jerry drawing a breath, glancing back to find him clearly working his way up to something,_

"_I meant what I said back there Dean," he offered with a smile, making the younger man frown in confusion, "You're a hell of a hunter, your dad taught you well."_

"_Thanks."_

"_It's what I always wanted for Cal but now…" he shook his head sadly, swiping a hand across his face and abruptly Dean pitied him for having such a son. He gathered himself together belatedly, "Tell your dad goodbye for me won't you?"_

"_You're leaving?"_

"_Yeah. Can't stick around here," as Dean watched Jerry dipped a hand into his pocket, pulling out a crumpled note and passing it across, pushing it into his own fingers and managing a thin smile, "Buy your dad a drink on me, huh?"_

_Dean frowned back, confused as to why Jerry was treating the moment like some sort of final parting._

"_Okay,"_

"_I mean it Dean," he offered finally as he turned to continue towards the reception, his entire body language seeming slumped, defeated and weary, _

"_You and your dad, you're two of the best and he loves you Dean, more than anything. Don't forget that."_

_Dean blinked, his voice soft as Jerry wandered past, barely carrying across the distance between them and accompanied by a puzzled frown.,_

"_I won't."_

_He only hoped the same could be said for Cal._


	19. Chapter 19

And again, way ahead of me!

* * *

**Chapter Nineteen.**

"**Pack Mentality."**

Dean woke with a start, his whole body jerking back into consciousness and then abruptly making him wish it hadn't as his chest suddenly erupted in pain, his breathing coming out in shallow gasps as his expanding lungs intensified the sensation tenfold. Cracked ribs, _damn_, they were always a bitch until they healed, although he guessed he was lucky that was all he'd ended up with. What the hell had happened?

Rolling onto his side with gritted teeth Dean pushed himself up onto his feet, grimacing through the pain and crashing heavily against the table as his legs briefly refused to co-operate. Peering down at his chest through heavy breathing Dean fingered the indentation on his shirt where the shots had bounced off his chest. He remembered that much, although the fact that no one had kicked down the door or called the cops spoke volumes about the local attitude to sporadic gunfire – or at least gunfire from the much-loved Cal Rudman anyway.

The gun was lying on the windowsill, Cal not apparently even having the decency to try and dispose of the attempted murder weapon, not that Dean was surprised, if his suspicions were right then the police didn't pose much of a threat to the hunter at all. The discarded weapon however did answer the question of why Dean was still alive and not strumming a harp instead – the gun had been loaded with salt. Trust Cal not to have checked, he always had been half-assed when it came to bullets and fine detail.

Luckily.

Stumbling forwards Dean quickly rooted through the gathered arsenal, rummaging around until he found what he looking for and loading it into his handgun before tucking it into the back of his jeans and trying hard not to wince as the motion twisted his aching chest. He pushed the pain away with a grunt, turning and heading for the door with a growing sense of urgency.

He had to find Sam, had to find him before Cal did anything. He'd already seen what the other man was capable of courtesy of Jerry Rudman and the thought of Sam ending up the same way was just not an option.

Outside the full moon shone down across the surroundings, casting a cool shade of inky blue around the landscape, details standing out sharp all around the motel, from the road, to the unkempt flowerbeds and right towards the shady borders of the forest where the trees stood sentinel-like before him. None of those things bothered him however, he didn't even see them, what he did see was the muddy boot prints threading away from their room towards the brush.

It was like a repeat of old times, him and Cal, hunting thick woodland on a full moon. Well, sort of like old times anyway.

Slowly things were starting to make sense to him, starting with Jerry Rudman's cagey behaviour the last time he'd seen the man, that look of cautious horror, the sudden departure – he must have known, must have wanted to get Cal away from civilisation. It almost defied belief, the thought that for the following years Cal had stood by his son, kept by his side instead of doing…well, what probably should have been done. Dean had no doubt that the man had loved Cal deeply, not he'd got anything for it in return, especially not if his death was anything to go by.

Suddenly another thought hit him and it made his stomach lurch, mingling with the constant throbbing in his chest, the jarring pain that shot up his ribs with every pounding step he took, occasionally stumbling over the uneven ground as he narrowed his eyes to follow the muddy prints in the sodden ground. Cal had said he was going to 'turn' Sam around, which could suddenly mean only one thing. He wasn't planning to kill Sam at all, he was going to…_crap_.

Only he wasn't. There was no way because Dean wasn't going to let it happen, not while he still had a breath in his body. The horrible dilemma faced by Jerry Rudman was not going to be faced by anyone else and certainly not him and Sam. That much he knew.

A howl stopped him in his tracks, echoing in off the trees like some cliché from an old movie, only he knew for a fact it was actually happening. It was not gratifying to know that he wasn't hearing things.

_Shit_.

He picked up his pace.

The first thing he saw was the stripes of Sam's shirt, the white standing out bright against the darkness of his surroundings. He was still alive, that was something, although he was apparently bound to a tree like some protesting hippy and judging by the way he was trying to push himself backwards, feet kicking at the leaves in a futile attempt to gain a few more precious feet, he had bigger problems besides. It didn't take Dean long work out what they were, was _it_ was.

It was Cal…or, at least maybe it used to be because what he found himself looking at instead was a werewolf, black fur glinting in the moonlight and a low rumble coming from deep down the teeth-lined muzzle sounding at odds with the soft rustle of earth underneath thick paw-pads as the animal stalked a clear circle around the tree, eyes at all times on its clearly vaguely panic-stricken prey. Dean could see Sam's hands pulling at the ropes, twisting uselessly and probably grinding a whole chunk of skin as his younger brother tried to find a weakness in the bindings. Judging by his progress there were none.

Stepping forward Dean ducked low, skirting the shadows and trying to ignore the pain that flared in his chest as he did, painkillers would have to wait. Instead he drew out the gun, watching as Sam continued to try and draw his legs up away from the crouching beast in front of him and the helplessness only severing to increase Dean's rapidly swelling anger. Nobody messed with Sam on his watch and Cal had done it twice – which was twice too many. It was time for a little payback.

"Hey, Cal."

A breath away from Sam's face, a trail of drool stringing its way between the jowls and his brother's drawn-up knee, the werewolf turned, sharp eyes finding his and lighting up with a flare of intensity as they caught the moonlight. Sam's eyes followed a fraction of a second later, his widening too although it was an expression of relief fast replaced by fear as Cal swivelled away from him, the deep rumble of discontent trebling in ferocity as he paced across the ground in a half-crouch, muscles tensed and twitching in anticipation.

Dean let him come, registering Sam struggling from the corner of one eye. His lack of speech made no difference to the message he was trying to convey, a desperate plea for his brother not to place himself in harm's way, a helpless fight against a plan he clearly considered insane. Dean ignored him. He'd had far worse plans in his time, although as Cal started to pick up speed in a flat-out pelt towards him he found his memory fail him slightly.

He fired with barely ten feet to go, planting the bullet square between the werewolf's eyes and watching it instantly crumple in a mass of muscle, limbs tangling as it tripped, raking a deep trench in the earth before him as it slid to a heavy and unmoving standstill at his feet, sending a few loose grains of soil onto the toe of his boot and plunging the clearing into sudden and abrupt silence.

For a second nobody moved and then, gradually, Dean began aware of heavy breathing, rushed and frantic sounding. It took him a moment to realise it was coming from Sam and with a wince as his chest twinged he stepped over the carcass and crossed the clearing in three shorts strides, dropping into a crouch beside his brother.

"Sam?" he began gruffly, his tone betraying his concern as he tipped the head forward and untied the bandana, "You okay?"

"Dean – ," It wasn't an answer, instead it sounded like the beginnings of a question of its own, albeit interspersed between deep gulps of air and a hiss of pain as he shifted and inadvertently tightened the ropes around his wrists. His brother cut him off quickly, standing and moving to the back of the trunk,

"Easy Sammy," he soothed instead, working quickly at the bindings and cursing as he realised how tight they were. Cal obviously hadn't been taking any chances, which reminded him about…

Absently he glanced across the clearing, his heart leaping clean into his throat as he took in the pale white skin lying out in the moonlight, Cal's transformation suddenly complete. Thank God he was face down, at least he didn't have to look into those cold eyes anymore.

The sound of Sam grunting in pain drew his attentions back to the job at hand and as the raw wrists came away from the rope Dean instantly sympathised, taking one gently and helping to ease the arm back around to the front. It wasn't an easy process, the joints stiff from having been twisted backwards for so long and Sam's long hiss through gritted teeth and squeezed eyes only highlighting how painful it was. Dean dropped back into a crouch beside him, ignoring his own pain as he did and starting to rub slow circles around his younger brother's shoulder,

"Nice night?" he joked gently, trying to lighten the mood and surprised by the stricken look he received in return, "Sam?"

"He told me you were dead,"

"What?"

"He said he shot you,"

Sam's voice was quivery as he spoke, his expression almost emotional. Obviously it had been one hell of an evening – not that the concussion or whisky probably helped much either.

"Yeah well," shrugging in an off-hand fashion Dean managed a smile, going for cavalier in a hope that the answer wouldn't worry his younger brother too much, "He did."

"He _what_?" Obviously his attempts at lightening the situation hadn't worked so well and instantly Sam's eyes went saucer-wide, "Dean – ,"

"Don't worry Sam. I'm fine, look…" pawing aside the folds of his jacket Dean pulled forward his shirt, revealing the noticeable indentation, a mark stamped on his clothing. He grinned again, "See? I'm bullet-proof."

Sam was blinking at him in amazement, confusion fast replacing it.

"How – ,"

"Rock salt," came the vaguely smug reply, followed by a snort of derision, "Ammunition never was Cal's strong suit."

Letting his jacket flap shut again Dean couldn't hide the momentary wince that flashed across his face, nor the tiny grunt of pain that followed it. Sam rose an unimpressed eyebrow in his direction,

"How many ribs did he get?"

There was no point in lying.

"Two? Maybe three."

"Right."

It was a resolute response, the type that said _okay, we're going to have to get that sorted_. It made Dean snort again, the noise one of growing amusement. Sam was in no condition to be handing out medical advice and to emphasis his point Dean raised a hand to gently press at the bruise gathering underneath his younger brother's hairline, a thin cut shot red and angry right through it. Suddenly Sam was the one wincing.

"Clocked you with a bottle, huh?"

Which was a fairly abrupt reminder that there was still plenty Sam didn't know about the rest of the evening's events.

"How did you even find us?"

"Lucky for you Cal doesn't clean his boots before he goes into a room, left footprints right into the woods,"

"He killed Jerry,"

Straightening up Dean reached down, grabbing hold of Sam's sleeve and helping to haul him upright onto unsteady feet, the bourbon clearly still at work,

"Yeah," he puffed back, taking most of the weight, "I found him in a morgue a few states over, he's not a pretty sight believe me."

"I know. Bobby called. I told him I was taking a bath."

Dean blinked, not entirely sure what the last part had to do with the conversation,

"Okay."

"Dean?"

Sam sounded miserable again, a defeated tone that made his brother's brows knit together. _What now?_

"Yeah?"

"He killed Penny."

_Huh?_

"Who's Penny?"

"Cal's girlfriend," Sam responded sadly, shutting his eyes briefly as his vision swung. Yeah, concussion and a hangover, not a pretty mix. Beside him Dean blinked, clearly as surprised by the fact that the other man had even had a girlfriend as by the other revelation. Sam's voice as he continued sounded small even to his own ears, "I told him about Jess, I – I thought he understood."

Throwing an arm around his shoulders in solidarity and fast realising that it was going to be a necessity if they were to make it back to the motel room without Sam tipping over into the mud, Dean sighed, trying to sound as comforting as he could through the over-riding emotion of wanting to punch something. Cal was lucky he was already dead,

"Come on Sammy," he settled for eventually, turning his weary brother in the direction of the motel and stepping forward, using his momentum to propel them both along.

They paused as their path fell across Cal's resting place, the body looking so strange and vulnerable where moments before it had been an unmovable mass of fur and teeth, growling and after a kill. Dean would have to deal with it later, once he was sure Sam was okay. Given how much the locals had seemed to take to Cal leaving him in the open didn't seem to be an option at all, and since he and Sam had already identified themselves as friends of his he had no doubt who would be the first suspects involved in his murder. No, Cal simply going 'missing' was a much more appealing option.

"Hey, Dean – ,"

Pushing him forward and beginning the steady walk back to the motel room, Dean tilted his head slightly, listening as Sam began a sleepy-sounding sentence. At the rate they were going he was going to have to pour Sam into bed, adrenaline fast being replaced with concussion-led exhaustion.

"Yeah?" He responded gently,

"When can we visit Jess?"

It was a question that broke both their hearts. As did the answer.

"Soon Sammy. Soon."

* * *

Well there you go! One more chapter to wrap everything up – including a guest appearance by Bobby – but the big exciting part is all done and dusted.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter Twenty.**

"**Better The Devil You Know."**

It was easily the most gruesome bonfire Sam had ever attended, two human-shaped shrouds ablaze before them, the brushwood pyre crackling in the heat and tiny hot sparks darting out to mix with the solid blackness all around them. It was a morbid spectacle, but still one that nobody could quite take their eyes off.

They'd arrived at Bobby's the day after the big showdown, Sam sporting a chronic headache and dark glasses as Dean had steered him gently in across the threshold, the elder wearing the face he reserved only for when he wanted to give life a damn good throttling. Bobby had said nothing, simply stepping back and letting them in with a sigh, resigned to the fact that time would bring him his answers.

The body in the back of the Impala however had been a different story and he'd blinked in astonishment as Dean had lead him out towards the car and popped the trunk,

"What in the world – ?!"

"It's Cal,"

"_What_?" More blinking had followed, incredulity mixing with horror, "You _killed_ him?"

"He was a werewolf Bobby!" Dean had shot back, calming himself as his temper had threatened to spill over, "He shot me then tried to turn Sam. I didn't have a choice."

Nor did Bobby doubt it, after all Dean Winchester was many things but an unnecessary killer of other hunters was not one of them. Besides, there was a bigger question that needed asking,

"So you put him in the back of your _car_? What were you thinking?"

A flicker of annoyance had flashed across the younger man's face, obviously the thought of having a dead body in his beloved Impala had not been his first idea either.

"I was thinking that we would be the first suspects when the locals found him. Besides," A somewhat awkward shrug, "He was a hunter Bobby."

Bobby had nodded. The kid was right, Cal deserved the same send-off they would have given anyone they'd worked with. Regardless.

And then another thought.

"He _shot_ you?"

A sigh had been the response, Dean leaning forward to collect up one end of the grisly package and watching as Bobby had moved forward to help him with the rest,

"With rock salt – it's a long story."

Together they had manhandled the body into one of Bobby's outbuildings, Dean standing and dusting off his palms absently before turning and heading back to the car again. Bobby had frowned, wandering after him and trying to piece together the strange sequence of events that had obviously befallen the boys in his absence,

"Where are you off to now?" he'd asked, scratching at his beard as he frowned. Dean had glanced back calmly as he'd swung shut the door, his response far from enlightening.

"I'm going to pick something up. Look after Sam."

"Dean – ,"

The Impala had roared off before he'd been able to finish the sentence and instead he'd groaned, thrown his hands into the air and trudged off to get the rest of the story from Sam – he always had been the more detailed narrator of the two anyway.

By the time Dean had pulled back up close to twelve hours later, the extra body in the back – the new one in an official body bag, which was a bonus – was the least of the surprises he'd received that day.

Sam had tentatively gone through the whole thing with him, even filling him in on the back-story that he himself had apparently only heard from Dean that morning, and taking the older hunter step by step through the subsequent events thereafter. Sometimes it beggared belief how much trouble two boys could get themselves into, although seeing as they were John Winchester's sons anything was technically possible…frequently was for that matter.

As the pair of them had plodded out to help Dean unload his latest cargo however – still dressed in his best FBI suit in a visual explanation as to how he'd managed to obtain Jerry Rudman's body from the morgue – Sam had got a sharp look and a carefully appraising gaze from his brother followed by a terse but undeniably concerned sounding,

"Go sit down Sam, Bobby and me can handle this."

Nor had the younger doubted them but he'd been sitting feeling miserable for himself pretty much the entire month, if he could help at all then he was determined to.

"I'm fine Dean."

It was all the conversation they'd seemed to have needed and Bobby had hidden his vague smirk underneath a grimace of exertion as they'd pulled the body free of the trunk. Half the time those two boys barely even needed words.

They'd waited until nightfall to burn the Rudmans. Laying them side-by-side on a makeshift funeral pyre, adding fuel and setting the dais alight. Bobby had found them each a beer and despite earning another look from Dean even Sam had taken his, figuring that since it wasn't whisky he wouldn't have a problem. Besides, they were burning _Cal,_ and his father, he'd damn well needed something to drink and so together the three of them had stood in silence, each alone with their sombre thoughts watching as the shapes before them flickered between the writhing flames.

Bobby had lasted ten minutes before sighing and finishing up his beer, figuring with some none-too-shabby intuition that the boys needed, or at least would benefit from a heart-to-heart or at least the chance to be alone without drama for what would apparently be the first time that week. He'd sighed quickly, turning towards them with a nod,

"Well, that's me out for the night," he had offered, trying not to sound too conspicuous yet aware that he was failing, "See you two in the morning,"

Dean had cocked an eyebrow at him, decidedly unconvinced by the exit,

"Night Bobby."

Sam however had seemed a little more taken-in,

"Yeah, night Bobby."

They waited until he had disappeared from view before turning back to the bonfire, the brightness of the licking flames almost blinding and the combination of heat and light doing little for Sam's continually thumping head. He didn't move though, rooted to the spot as if drawn by some strange emotion. He owed it to Jerry Rudman to stay, the Jerry that Cal had convinced him had been a bad father, the Cal that had briefly once or twice draw parallels between himself and his father. For all his apparent faults however, Jerry had obviously loved Cal deeply and even if his son hadn't appreciated it Sam could. It was a lesson he'd had to learn the hard way himself.

"I'm sorry Sammy,"

Dean's voice sounded strange amidst the crackle, almost choked although whether from emotions or the smoke Sam couldn't tell. He frowned instantly, concern flickering across his face,

"For what?"

Dean waved a hand, seemingly indicating everything, although that was a pretty big time frame, nor was any of it his fault. Finally however he settled on one prominent feature,

"Not letting you go see Jess."

Ah. Dean thought it _was_ his fault. Idiot. Before Sam could contradict him however his older brother continued, eyes staring straight ahead into the flames and no doubt thinking back to their own father and the strange repetition the burning seemed to represent.

"If I'd have let you go to see her we'd never have taken that job of Cal's, and this whole thing – ,"

"Cal would have found a way Dean," Sam interrupted firmly, the facts already straightened out in his own mind, "Maybe not then but next month, next year even. This isn't your fault."

It didn't do a lot of good, Dean seemingly intent on wallowing.

"That's not the point Sam, I should have just let you go in the first place."

"Yeah well," casting down, gazing past the beer bottle clutched in one hand and towards his feet instead, Sam heaved a sigh, reluctant to say what he was about to but knowing it was the truth, "I'm glad you didn't."

"What? You're glad I _didn't_?"

As Dean's eyes turned towards him narrowed in confusion, Sam nodded, keeping his gaze low. It had been a hard enough fact to admit to himself under his older brother's scrutiny however it was virtually impossible.

"Yeah," he offered eventually, "You were right, turning up there would have been a bad idea. What would I have said if people had asked me where I'd been? Why I hadn't called?"

He tailed off with another shrug, both of them fully aware that the question was purely rhetorical. Besides, those had been Dean's main points in the first place. It had annoyed Sam at the time, as he was bound to have known, but in his own way keeping Sam away from Jessica's grave long enough to get the mourning period over was Dean's way of protecting him from further harm, from accusations, from questions.

Silently they turned back towards the fire as one, the blaze capturing both men's gaze as they tipped back their bottles and contemplated the month's events – which even by their standards had been somewhat more angst-ridden than usual. Still when did a month in the Winchester calendar ever go smoothly? Sam could barely remember the last time one of them hadn't been thrown across a room, punched or throttled at least once in a four-week period. It was almost unheard of.

Beside him Dean sighed, stepping back and swinging his arms with a slight wince – obviously having been cramped in the Impala for hours straight with a couple of cracked ribs and a dead body in the trunk hadn't done wonders for his back. Go figure.

"Hey Dean?" Suddenly Sam felt strangely proud of him, although it wasn't worth saying, Dean would just snort, look at him oddly and blame the concussion, the alcohol or both. He wanted to say something though, "Thanks."

He got the odd look anyway, accompanied by a frown hiding the evident pleasure that came with hearing the word. Looking away again Dean nodded, acknowledging if not completely understanding the reasoning for the sentiments.

"Sure."

But Sam hadn't just said it for himself – although he had enough grounds to – he'd said it for Jerry and Cal too, finally at peace together after a lifetime of butting heads. Dean had done that. He'd not had to but he'd done it anyway, all without saying a word. Sam smiled wryly,

"How're the ribs?"

"I'll live. How's the head?"

"Thick as ever."

"Hey," Dean shot back holding up his hands, eyes shining with amusement in the glow of the fire, "You said it, not me."

"Yeah."

Another short silence fell between them, comfortable in the warmth of the inferno. Suddenly however Dean turned towards him, obviously trying to sound casual as he picked his way through the next sentence,

"So," he began slowly, waiting until he had his younger brother's undivided attention, "Want to head on over next week? You know, once we've eaten Bobby out of house and home."

He didn't need to say what for, that much was clear.

_Want to go and see Jessica?_

"Yeah," Sam nodded back quietly, smiling slightly, "Once you can drive without wincing your way over every bump and pothole,"

Dean smirked straight back,

"And once you can hold a decent amount of booze without spewing up everywhere."

"Deal."

And suddenly Sam didn't mind the wait because the wait didn't matter. Jessica wasn't in the grave under that little plot of grass anyway – she was with him, always. Just like Dean, for better or for worse.

It took him a second to realise that his brother was holding forward his beer bottle, one final mouthful swilling around in the bottle. Sam stepped forward with his own at once, letting the glass chink between them,

"To Jess," Dean offered quietly and as he registered it Sam realised abruptly how much more it meant coming from his brother than from Cal. He nodded gently, swallowing down the lump gathering in his throat and for the first time that month feeling halfway content with life. He was quite possibly going to be okay.

"To Jess."

* * *

Annnnnnd cut! Done.

Well, that's me officially run out of ideas for the moment. For the first time since November I'm finishing a story and not launching into another! Had to happen sometime I guess!

Thank you so much for all the reviews - I think this is my most ever! Whoo! I hope this one met all expectations!


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